Book 1: Lint! The Story of Juan
by Phenoca
Summary: In which the author attempts to explain why Juan from /lint/2005/06/13/06132005/ is befriended to a talking octopus...


**The Story of Juan**

**~2~**

Juan walked down Bob St., carrying a handful of flowers. They were lilacs, and if Juan had looked closely, he would have noticed the odd Hyacinth. Suddenly, Juan did look closely at the flowers, as he held them up in the fading light of the early evening.

"Why am I carrying this?" he wondered silently, and then gave a start, as his mind made an internal leap to the answer: he was carrying the lilacs (along with the odd Hyacinth) to the cemetery, because it was his sister's birthday. As he recollected his mother's orders for leaving the flowers upon Juan's sister's grave (his sister's name was Rosemary), he vaguely wondered whether they would be having cake in order to celebrate… And then dismissed the idea.

*4.5±0.5 minutes later*

Juan stood in front of the flowers. He mumbled something under his breath and turned awkwardly to leave. The casual observer would have noticed that the flowers had been arranged radially with stems touching in the centre, and the hyacinths marking the gravestone's caption, which read, simply, "Rosemary Du".

Actually, the casual observer (a crow) marked none of this, except for the hyacinths, when a strong gust of wind blew them off of Rosemary's gravestone, causing them to fall gently onto a second gravestone, captioned, "Regnar Du".

*Insert Colby's Foreword*

**~4~**

Juan arrived at home and resumed his writing where he had left off. Discarding the scrap paper which housed an erratic summary of his last night's mental dialogue, he dipped his pen into an inkjar and shifted within the uncomfortable chair at his desk, deigning, with the strong will and focus of a hare being pursued by vixen, to place the clear thoughts within his head onto the clear paper lying on the desk. What he wrote went roughly as follows,

_The importance of chords being played in sets of three separate tones played simultaneously lies in the audience's conditioning to associate pitch-intervals into three underlying categories. Firstly…_

The document continued in this fashion for some while, until it's writer, Juan, forgot what his reasoning was for the second case for mental-associability to musical harmonics. He turned in his chair, tilting it sideways so that he could slip his shin out past the chair and desk support without getting his thigh caught between the rim of the chair and the desk's surface. Then, placing his foot upon the dull, flat wooden strips that made up his feet's domain of the worn yet smooth boundaries of his family's one-story (ignoring the cellar, which was of negligible importance) residence, he tilted the chair back upon its rearmost leg (this was a four-legged chair, in case you were curious), and (favouring his outer leg) swung the leg inside of the desk-to-chair enclave to follow in-suite with the outer leg and escape from the enclave through the very same opening which his outer leg had previously swung through! Juan made a preemptive hop to avoid catching the inner face of his ankle against the heavy tip of the chair as it swung to hit his mobile foot which instead cleared the desk-to-chair enclave in the nick of time! The chair had swung in the first place only because Juan had let it to pivot, with a light, passing grip on the back of the chair, which had allowed it to pivot away from him on its rear-leg (which was touching the floor at the side closest to him). This was why – from previous experience with chair legs – Juan had deemed it necessary to hop.

Only to fall down anyways, and flip two pages of the book lent to him by his teacher, which was lying face-up upon the dull, flat wooden strips, that made up his knees' domain of the boundaries of his family's one-story residence.

In fact, it was a _hovel_, and it was in this studious yet… I do not know how to describe it. Joan is kneeling on the floor after getting up from his desk. Who knows what relevance the book had to the mental-associability to musical harmonics that he was writing about – because that isn't the point – not really; in fact, the point is, he was – at this very instant – INTERRUPTED.

Albeit, it was a very short/tiny interruption, and of rather nonprolonged duration (Joan's brother had learnt through trial-and-error that whooshing a door open rapidly is, nine times out of ten, quite quieter than painstakingly opening the door gradually (even lifting a little to avoid scraping hinges) with the intent of not disturbing anyone. Perhaps, had Joan's brother known it, this rapid door-opening technique only worked _seven_ times out of ten. Nevertheless, it was in this fashion that Joan's brother opened the door: rapidly – **only to have the door give a momentous "CREEAK", as the torque is reversed before stopping its angular momentum.** All that Joan's brother observed , however, was that the door (nine times – or seven) out of ten had accentuated his entrance with a "CREEEEEEAK" just before he had been about to stop the door! I must point out at this point, that having a door go creak just before its angular momentum is stopped is, in fact, the worst time for a door to go creak, because one gets the impression that had he or she stopped the door earlier, then the door would not have gone creak. Neither Juan nor his brother knew that the creak-effect was due solely to torque and friction. Perhaps, had one of them learned this, then Juan's brother (let us call him Regnar, as this is his name actually) wouldn't have opened the offending door with a "whoosh" (and distinguishable (in Juan's opinion, but not Regnar's)) C#.

It was in this manner that Juan was at this very instant -INTERRUPTED-. So Juan said the first thing that came to his mind, "Hi Mom".

"Lol" replied Regnar, in a jovial fashion.

"Yo," returned Juan, with a slight audible feeling of lowered self-esteem.

"Guess what?" intoned Regnar, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"Congratulations," beckoned Juan (yes he beckoned), smiling at the wall between them (this is not a metaphor – it is just that a wall that happens to be in the house) and standing-up to cross the dull, flat wooden strips of the floor, which was now all the less dustier for his knees' visitations. This is what he did, as Juan's brother Regnar crossed the threshold to their hovel, took off his moccasins and… Ignoring the beckoning of Juan's voice, walked instead towards the kitchen.

**~5~**

Their rendezvous was in the kitchen. A third party had graciously appeared to sup with them, in form, no less, of supper. It was excellent. The food, the rendezvous, and most effectively (yet least noticeable) the air of festivity. For Regnar had accomplished his life's desire of joining the militia.

Last year had been a failure. The interviews (which Juan preferred to call skirmishes) had been rather eventful last year, due to the fact that Regnar – hmm, let us explain this first – the militia are an elite group of Rascaline (the city where Regnar, Juan, and their mother Beatrice live). It is run by the Elites (named for their elitist-attitudes towards the middle-class, and complete ignorance of all lower-class civilians), who fund the town militia for the defense and pride of Rascaline. It is the most honoured job in this city, where honour is seldom – if ever – considered an aspect of life. But honourable this job was, and that is why Regnar wanted to join. Yet I still am not getting to the point. The point is that when Regnar accidentally stabbed a fellow militia applicant in the cheek, the fellow (a son of one of Rascaline's Elites) had thought a bit much of his cheek, and promptly snapped Regnar's defenses in half (a non-sharpened wooden spear), and proceeded to beat him. This behaviour was encouraged during interviews/skirmishes, yet resulted in Regnar being in no shape to join the militia. Allow me to exaggerate:

John approached Regnar, taking care to wipe the smirk off his face as he challenged his foe. Regnar was wearing a red bandana about his eyes, with a second purple bandana tied underneath. This was to prevent him from cheating, and seeing John. Interviews had to be done based on hearing and intuition. Only the most agile (or the strongest) applicants get to join the Rascaline Militia.

Regnar stood, his feet planted firmly on the ground. He shortened his stance, squatting low to the ground with his spear thrust in front of him, perfectly even with the horizontal ground. Instinctively ignoring the background noise of the attending Elites and talkative observers, Regnar focussed on his feet, waiting for the instant when his opponent, John Doar, would give away his position. Regnar had witnessed too many instances when an opponent had snuck-up behind the blindfoldee and delivered a swift blow with their wooden axe, incapacitating the blindfoldees before they had a chance to strike back.

John shifted the grip on his axe-handle. He wished that it had been a weighted axe, instead of the flimsy wooden weaponry that they were given for doing interviews. Suddenly, as he approached Regnar, John saw movement flash in the corner of his vision, and realized – too late – that Regnar had detected his approach. John raised his wooden axe to block the swing, but at the same time, Regnar's wooden spear (staff? It was rather too long for a staff, so we'll call it a spear) connected with John's cheek. The pain was unbearable.

Regnar hoped that he had not hit a bystander. His hopes were confirmed when he heard John give a shout – anyone in Rascaline could associate that shout with the Doar family – it was a very loud and authoritative shout, but this shout in particular carried a malice not often conveyed in public. John was upon Regnar in an instant. The first blow Regnar blocked instinctively, associating John's movement-pattern with the pattern shown in previous interviews. But as the axe thumped into Regnar's spear/staff, he felt the impact penetrating into the wood so deeply that he feared it might snap. Stepping back to give himself room, Regnar felt a jarring pain in his left hand, which secured the spear, and had to let go of his weapon. It was at this point, as Regnar saw through his blindfolds the sun being blocked by the hurtling face and axe of John Doar, that Regnar realized he was about to lose this interview.

But it was April again! Time for youths to prove their prowess in combat. And an opportunity for the militia of last year to terminate their contracts, which held them to such a rigorous yet boring occupation. Most militia were sent on "patrols". Others were guards, and yet others were in charge of "crime-management", which could only be handled by the Elites' most trusted members of the militia. And this April, Regnar had passed his interview (likely, he believed, due to the absence of John from the applicants). In fact, John Doar was on patrol right now, leading a patrol to the Plains of Woe (which lay westward and northward of Rascaline). Juan knew all of this, so Regnar skipped the details and launched into an exuberant (and because of his exuberance, very entertaining) story of his interview with Garthrew Thresher. I will skip the details, because it is more exciting to hear the story from Regnar himself, rather than from myself. In fact, he would probably be very pleased to hear you ask.

**~3~**

Fangline the elf trundled through the eastern grasses of the Plains of Woe. The excitement and mirth, and sadness and despair of his escape from Schloeffelonia (the Elven Kingdom) had worn-off, after his troubles in Pixie Pass, and the lack of food in the Plains of Woe. In short, he was very tired. In detail: He was a weary traveller, fatigued from thirst and hunger, on the last steps that his shaking legs could give him. His feet felt – well let's not delve into the utter dreadful condition of Fangline's feet – but his feet were hurting him, and his stomach – oh, it was a stomach no longer, but a pompous trumpeter, exclaiming in laborious and incessant repetition all that was wrong with the world, to all who would listen. And Fangline listened, for there was not much right in the world, and there was much wrongness, and it seemed, as Fangline stumbled through the snickering grasses of the plains, that most of this wrongness was directed at him. He considered suicide. Deciding that he did not yet have a valid case for shooting himself in the head, he considered instead, the alluring, tantalizing option of sleep. And sleep he did, with his royal heirloom to the throne (a unique Elven ring) clasped in his pocket, and his other hand grasping his other possession (a unique Dwarven revolver). It was a sunny afternoon, and nobody noticed the unconscious Elf in their fields. It would be nice to say that somebody did, but I don't think there was, or the disaster that begun in Rascaline may have been delayed, or beyond all hope, extinguished before it began.

**~7~**

"Do you know who your partner is for guard duty?" inquired Juan.

"No, I'll meet him at the gate," responded Regnar, "he'll be there at eight o'clock."

"What do you need to bring?" asked Juan.

"Just my night supplies," Regnar stated, "I'm getting everything from the barracks tomorrow morning," he concluded.

"Want me to pack a sandwhich?"

"Sure. Thanks," amended Regnar, rising-up and – nearly hitting his head on the ceiling, rushing into the cellar to root about for his portable ruck skin water container. After some shuffling of urns, and quickly running-upstairs to grab his pack and a wool blanket, Regnar obtained the container, and stowed it in his pack. Later-on, he was reminded – with much thanks from Regnar – of the need to fill it with water before departing. But before that occurred, Regnar and Juan made sandwiches. Juan was a nice guy, so he made extra in case Regnar's partner forgot to bring some, but then Regnar thought better of it, so they ended-up eating the extra sandwiches, and by that time it was like ten minutes to eight, and Regnar ran out the door, which is when Juan reminded him to fill-up his water container, and then he ran out the door again, and Juan smiled, and tried to remember what he had been writing about, before Regnar had burst in the door that morning, and told him about his interviews skirmishes.

**~6~**

Fangline heard a cry from above. It was too high-pitched to be a bird of prey, and Fangline knew that birds of prey did not roam the plains so far from a roost. Unless he was nearing a collection of trees, which may have increased the probability of finding shelter, possibly in the form of housing. Feeling rested-enough, Fangline rolled into a sitting position, and used his right hand to level himself out of the grasses, his rotational momentum allowing him to stand by pushing-up off his hand and left foot. Suddenly dizzy, from his rest in the quite inhospitable bedroom of grasses of roots which now were making their own abode in the tangles of his hair, Fangline lost his balance. I should say that he lost his footing. It was really the grass's fault, since his ankle had gotten tangled in the obnoxious weeds. Thus aborting his attempt at standing, Fangline gracefully shifted into a squat. The proper analogy to apply would be a cat attempting to enter or leave a window, only to realize for the first time, that glass is an impassable substance, and then gracefully abort the attempt in order to act as nonchalant as possible. This can give the impression to the glass window that it does not exist, but the cat does not realize that it has been exceedingly rude to the window by ignoring its presence, and it is thus that Elves, in their nonchalance and seeming-inattention to their surroundings, convey the message that they are arrogant and cold, even when they are only trying to shrug-off their mistakes or at least hide the original intention of having attempted an action which has failed. It was thus that Fangline rose gracefully into a squat, while attempting to stand-up. The high-pitched cry which had sounded before, sounded once again, yet this time, Fangline was able to perceive its source.

"Yeeeaargh! He lives!"

"Call back Boromir," ordered a monotone voice which Juan would have easily recognized as belonging to John Doar. What John's friends also recognized was a tinge – or perhaps not a tinge, but an overflowing dam – of excitement to John's tone, indicated by the slight increase in the pace of his wording near the end of his sentences, as well as an abnormally raised pitch at the beginning of each sentence.

"Yessir," replied a third voice. Fangline heard saw a figure turn to dash-off in a random direction, and then saw the cape-clad figure of John Doar draw near. It was a rather simple cloak, yet as it billowed fancifully in the wind of this bright, sunny afternoon, Fangline judged the cape as rather posh. And exceedingly tacky.

"You! What," began John, in a halting speech, as his eyes grew (note: his eyes do not grow, just the amount of surface area revealed by the lifting of his eyebrows) to regard Fangline, "What are you?" queried John in a most obnoxious manner, pointing his hand at Fangline with his elbow held at such an angle so as to drag the cape off of his opposite shoulder (though the elbow was only raised such so as shield John from any sudden blows which he deemed Fangline to be capable of delivering, from several feet away (if his friends hadn't been just as scared of Fangline, then John would have been ashamed to have given such an unmanly hand-gesture, which has have accusatory, half cringing)).

"Prince Fangline of the royal house Schloeffel of Schloeffelonia." replied Fangline annoyedly, pausing to allow reverent acknowledgement of his position (I bet you didn't know Fangline was a Prince... In order to clear-up some plot-holes, I highly recommend versing yourself on Fangline's heritage at the Lint webcomic, available via Google), which did not come from the bystanders; "Look, if you don't have anything useful to say, just leave and get me your food," ordered Fangline, in a dismissive manner. This order was followed by a pause. Fangline, his mind often able to jump to ingenious conclusions, was at this point analyzing the possible reasons why these people were not obeying him. Perhaps they did not believe him. No, perhaps in this offish place, nobody had ever heard of house Schloeffel!

"Get back, Elf!" yelled the high-pitched voice from before, "Or..."

"Lay down your weapons," intoned John, placing a gentle yet restraining hand on his comrade's shoulder. "Don't run, or I'll shoot," he finished, attempting to indicate a third companion, and then realizing that his third companion had run off to recall Boromir, who had been sent to warn the city of possible danger from monsters. He had not been associating Fangline as a type of monster, but rather as a victim of unexpected monster-attacks, which was quite unexpected in the plains, yet possible. The actual presence of an Elf, however, in the midst of humans, was dangerous. This did not bode well.

"Elf?" asked the young man with the high-pitched voice, which had now lowered considerably, now that he had stopped panicking (with the realization that John was now in control of the situation). "Heh heh hah!" he chuckled, stepping nearer, and leering down at Fangline. Extremely disgruntled by the lack of politeness of these humans – Fangline smirked – humans were an inferior race of mortals doomed to die soon after birth. They could not even outlive trees. But, sensing a tension to which Fangline was unaccustomed to, he decided that it was best if he did not smirk, and instead opted for kindness, "Shack-dweller, do you know where -" Fangline began, only to be interrupted.

"Get down! Elf!" screeched John, infuriated (Elites did not live in shacks). Jumping forth to strike Fangline in the ear, John wielded his axe hilt viciously (an axe hilt would actually be called a shaft, so it would suffice to say that Fangline got shafted by John) and ordered his companion to pin-down Fangline's arms. Fangline was dismayed that the companion with the high-pitched voice only gave a slight pause before doing so, but he was even more dismayed that he was being treated like a hen for slaughter, beaten with viciousness, and... Feeling the cartilage in his ear being crushed, Fangline cried loudly in frustration. Another insult was yelled by John, but Fangline wasn't paying attention, and when the next blow connected with his face, he was quite unable to pay attention to anything, as he had fallen unconscious.

"It looks like a goblin," said Dorwin, peering at Fangline's pointed ears, and wondering why one was swollen red and hanging-lower than the other. But it was not so much a curiosity as to Dorwin's curiosity at Fangline's presence. The high-pitched man and Dorwin quitely discussed Fangline, as John and Boromir carried the Elf by his hands and feet, John at the feet, and Boromir at the head. John had taken care to disarm Fangline of his rapier, which was, of course, of the highest quality available in Schloeffelonia, which was to say that the rapier had no equal in the City of Rascals. The high-pitched man was upset to see such a weapon left behind in the grasses of the plains, and so was carrying it through the grasses, observing how the light shone of its length, and how easily it cut the dry shafts of grass that lay before and about him. Though their four-person patrol had not detected any goblins, griffons, edible meat or the rare imp (which made excellent soup, but which was also rather a challenge to kill), they had secured an Elven Spy, and who knew what invaluable secrets it would reveal to the Elites in the City of Rascals. Had Fangline's close relatives known the hands that Fangline's fate and unconscious body now lay in, they would have instantly forgiven him any misgivings, and gladly accepted him back home. Unfortunately, none of Fangline's relatives knew where he was, and if they had come to rescue him that very day (somehow traversing the leagues which Fangline had traversed in a split instant, and knowing exactly where Fangline was located without any possibility of locating him without tracking his entire journey from Schloeffelonia), then Fangline's life may have been forfeit that afternoon, killed for being an Elven Spy. I will also add that Schloeffelonia is the most peaceful country in the world. If you should perchance to visit, you should know that there is nothing there that will do harm to you intentionally, although its people are a tad... Refined, which is often mistaken for arrogance and coldness. It did not help Fangline's situation that the City of Rascals was the most impoverished city on the continent (being second-largest with a dazzling population of over 60,000 humans), whereas Schloeffelonia was itself the richest kingdom since the beginning of recorded history (for human historians – not Elves).

**~8~**

It had been an Age and a half since Regnar had picked-up a book, and he strongly doubted ever having read a book on history. In fact, he secretly hoped that Juan would not ask him questions on the history of music, because _Cacophony to Harmony: Horns Through the Centuries_, did not look like a particularly appealing title. Regnar strode to the gate with satchel in hand, his brother's teacher's book as well as his sandwiches and water supplies packed tightly inside. He looked-up at the menacing structure of stone and iron that stood before him and smiled. Lightly tossing his satchel onto the ground, he leapt onto the wide stone railing that lead to the walkway above the gate. Most of the City of Rascals was surrounded by a double wood palisade, broken in some places where city-dwellers had deemed it important to remove a few choice bits of wood in order to improve (or create) a shelter. In the poorer district of the city, the inner wall was completely removed, with only securely-grounded stumps of wood to indicate where the palisade had once been. But the outer palisade was righteously maintained by the militia of Rascaline, and no piece of wood was allowed to fall out of place without an onset of carpenters to replace it. In fact, so devotedly did the militia tends its palisade, that it was a small tragedy that only a few guards were able to be situated at regions of the wall where palisade turned to strong blocks of stone, and the strength of Rascaline was apparent in the carefully hewn cuts of rock and mortar that made-up the three main gates to Rascaline (there were five gates in total, yet only the three of them were crafted in stone, and in the perception of Rascals (people who inhabit Rascaline, which is the area surrounding and including the City of Rascals), the stone gates were of impeccable workmanship).

Crossing the gate's two opening-mechanisms which lay across the top of the stone walkway, Regnar pranced inside of the Construct. It was an ancient Construct, elaborated-upon over the years by various militia who had taken their turns at guarding the gate. Unlike the complex gears and levers and – possibly a sailboat steering wheel – that composed the gate's opening-mechanisms, the Construct was a simple deal of wood and cloth and bits of stuff. In fact, it was originally three poles with a cloak draped overtop, but now, in this age of Science, it had become a much greater assembly of materials, ranging from every single thing you will find lying around, to the very hair off of people's heads, used to tie-together the loose end and that stick that was always leaning-over too much, and the this and that. In fact, the Construct had gone from being a mere 0.8meter-high tepee to a grand fabrication of ingenuity and art, crouching in the lee of the stone wall, as if it had always belonged there. Regnar loved the Construct, and fingered the blue trap that had been set across the erratically-shingled ceiling of the Construct. It would take pages to describe every thought and detail that had gone into the creation and enhancement of the Construct, and they would be very interesting and amusing pages, as the Construct was just that – a shelter created by men who needed protection against the elements. In the eyes of the militia, each Construct (for there were many now that the method of staying dry during the summer, and warm during the winter had bounded through the ranks to become practically a fad) was a second home. A tribute to creativity and Science. It is just as well that their wives did not know of what service the Constructs purposed, as they had a very low opinion of each Construct, and to be frank, it was some sort of cross between a garden overgrown with assorted weeds, and a hut (the weeds being a simile for the materials that this hut consisted of). The only people who were really ever concerned with _true_ Science were the Dwarves of the Twisty Mountains, as well as the odd magic practitioner.

Regnar entered the Construct and glanced towards the Chair (the Chair was an interesting affair in each Construct, yet this Construct, unlike others, actually contained a Chair which was – reputedly – an actual chair (and not a log, or an unconformity in the wall, or any odd manner of things which can be sat on). Hazarding a guess at the name of the militiaman who occupied the Chair, Regnar greeted Balthazar, and sat down on the floor. It was the first time that he had legitimately been inside of a Construct (being the rogue child/teen every other time he had visited one), and it was soon to be the first time he had legitimately left one. There was only one Chair in each Construct, and this was because there was only ever one out of two militia on break at each gate (except during rush hour, as more men were needed on duty during this time). This time, instead of leaving the Construct by his ear/arm/wrist/ankle being pulled, Regnar had the privilege of, for the first time, being asked to check the gate.

This inferred a four-hour "check", and by the time that four hours were up, Regnar was ready to go to the Chair until Dawn. Which is what he did (since Balthazar did not wake him for the fourth shift).

"What?" came a voice, enveloping the darkness, and squishing it, until it exploded into the normal night time sounds of the city. Juan came-to, and found that Balthazar was arguing with some citizens at the gate. They were standing outside of the gate, and sounded anxious to get in.

"Just open the gate Balthazar," Regnar heard John speak. Interested in the arrival of John's scouting party, Juan opened his eyes and peered outside of the Construct. "We're sorta inna hurry," pleaded another man.

"I... You can't expect me to let," argued Balthazar, but lowered his tone and began working on the gate mechanism to make the gate open. "You can't expect me to let you bring kidnapped people inside Rascaline – you are going to get in trouble," he continued.

"Look, it's not a person, see? He's an Elf spy!" rationed John, to an exclamation of surprise from John and Regnar.

"A what?" intoned Regnar, now fully-awake.

"An Elf," affirmed John, "we caught him lurking just outside the city. He was dangerous, but now we're safe since he's unconscious. We're taking him to Baba."

"We are..?" questioned Boromir, "Isn't she asleep?" he rationed, reminding everyone of how late (or – since it was morning – how early) it was. John did not respond, but he urged everyone through the gate, and beckoned for John to close the gate. They carried an unconscious man – or maybe an Elf – through the gate with them. He was draped over the shoulders of the man with the high-pitched voice of them, who was not even staggering under the weight. Regnar thought he saw some drool coming out of the Elf's mouth, but it could have been the reflective fabric of its clothing catching the light. There was not ample light, so Regnar tried lighting the lantern that lay inside the Construct. There lay the Elf! It had pretty blonde hair, and looked rather graceful lying unconscious. As if it had been too lazy to stay awake, and had nonchalantly drifted off into slumber – choosing to fall asleep on somebody else's shoulders only by mere coincidence, and that it had not been kidnapped by John's scouting party. Balthazar interrupted Regnar's musings with an order:

"Don't leave the gate, kay? You can go after them in the morning." ended Balthazar, evidently thinking of following John, and guessing – correctly – that Regnar wanted to do the same.

**~9~**

"Juan, wake-up!" came a shout from the entrance to the hovel. I rose to my elbows, and then propped myself upon my wrist, rolling to kick my blankets off of my feet. Setting the feet onto the carpeted rug beside my bed, I shifted forward, and spoke,

"Welcome home, Reg. How did it go last night?" to which the exuberant reply was, "You wouldn't believe what we saw! I can't believe it! You have to see him," Regnar spoke rapidly, leaving me no time to think and consider his words. Approximately five minutes later, as we left via the front-entrance, I recalled those words to mind as I followed Reg out of the door, and shut it behind me and the latch (more for keeping the door shut against the wind than for security) clicked into place.

"Him?" I questioned, pinpointing the oddity of Regnar's excitement.

"Uh..." Regnar finally lapsed into silence. Apparently he had had so much fun as a guard during the night, that now that it was daytime, and he had not gotten enough sleep, he could not recall what had happened! I prompted him by stepping-up the pace at which we walked towards Baba's hovel.

"I don't know Juan. There was this Elf, and he had big ears." muttered Regnar as we walked, I was so amused by his tone, that I scoffed at his remark, and told him, "And you would not believe what happened last night to me either – I grew these remarkably large ears, and they were so large, that I could hear Baba snoring in her bed!" at which we laughed, because Baba was a very respected figure in the community, since she was the wife of the most powerful Elite in Rascaline... Who was now dead. For a widow, she still wielded an incredible amount of respect. I now regret making the joke, but nobody heard, so it was ok. The humour lay in the fact that Baba's house was almost a half-kilometre away from where I live.

"But seriously – we caught an Elf." said Regnar. I didn't know what to say. I was dumbstruck. Out of my dumbness (dumb as in not being able to speak), I said the first thing that jumped unexpectedly into my mind, "are they feeding it?"

"Yeah." replied Regnar. We both fell silent as we fell to considering how humans treated Elves. But then, it was an Elf. "How big is he?" I asked, actually referring to the Elf by its gender, not out of respect, but by accident.

"As big as anyone, come-on - I want to see it wake-up!" said Regnar as he hurried towards Baba's hovel, which was now visible, rising above the other hovels by meters. Baba's hovel was the tallest residential building around, but I took it for-granted as we sprinted to the front door, and knocked. Puffing, as I was out of breath, I swallowed the air in large gulps, and glanced at Regnar, who was visibly not out of breath. He was not even moving his shoulders as he stood patiently at the door, waiting to see who would answer it.

**~1~**

_Panel 8, page 292, of the _

_Lint Archives__ by Colby Purcell: _

_Depiction of Fangline_

Prince Fangline of house Schloeffel stood before his mothers grave. He almost looked human. Not the sorrowful, mournful part of humanity, but the clunky, ungraceful part. Fangline looked like he could trip on his on feet, as he turned, and left. His feet shuffling over the graveyard lawn, in a narrow stance, taking short steps, yet moving rapidly. He wanted to leave... Not just the graveyard, but his entire home. Not his home, but his homeland. He turned and left, walking away from his homeland, Schloeffelonia.

It was a sad goodbye, yet there were no tears at the parting. Only later, when King of Schloeffelonia learned of his son's departure, did he grieve. Not out of sadness for the actions that led to Fangline's departure, but for his son's choice to desert his inheritance, the kingdom Schloeffelonia.

Many hours were wasted, sneaking past the Elven guards of the capital city, many hours wasted, scouring the countryside for a road to take Fangline away – away from this place. There was one hour, that was not wasted, where Fangline almost pondered turning back, but he hardened his heart, and continued on his journey, taking no friends with him. For nobody would want to accompany an exiled Elf prince, who had committed murder and then ran from the scene. It was not to be taken lightly, when Elves shirk their honour, and leave their lives behind. This is because the Elves of Schloeffelonia are long-lived, and slow to change. And no Elf can leave behind their lives without a great deal of suffering involved. It certainly did not help that Fangline forgot to take supplies with him when he left. Nor did it help when his only possessions - the clothes on his back - (note the valuable purple gem in _Depiction of Fangline_) were stolen from him by bandit pixies.

**~10~**

I waited with Regnar for someone to answer the door for us. Perhaps Baba had gone out, or the Elf had been moved. When Regnar shifted his feet, and stepped towards the door to knock again (I waited a respectable half-metre away from the door), the door swung inwards, and we saw the face of Baba peering at Regnar.

"Shoo! Shoo!" she scolded us, stepping inside, and indicating for us to leave.

"Err, we - came... To see the Elf?" Regnar asked hopefully, in halting and confused speech.

"No no no! Shoo! Get to your chores." Baba scolded again, this time a little more kindly. I felt comforted by the fact that there actually was an Elf right now staying inside of Baba's hovel, as I know how uncomfortable it would have felt to have it turn-out that Regnar had made up the whole incident of last night (which wasn't beyond his imagination). But, listening to one's elders is a key concept which should be instilled into the ideologies of more youths. I turned halfway to leave, and held-out my hand to Regnar (not for him to take it, but more as a gesture where he was like, metaphorically, and attachment to my body, and that the natural force of gravity dictated that he would fall diagonally towards my body, which was in the direction away from Baba's hovel). He took the hint that he was a hand, falling away from the house, and also turned to leave, then we were halted before even taking three steps away from the front entrance, by a voice inside (likely John's) which spoke,

"Get inside here Regnar, you can help out right now but we don't need tourists." Regnar confirmed the order with Baba as the two shared a glance, and the stepped inside. I took John's hint, and left. It was five minutes (perhaps less, but time drags when you're not feeling very respected), and I got the wonderful idea of going to ask my music master about Elves. Erdős knew everything about anything, because he read a lot. This would normally be scary in a music master, but I was comfortable with the fact, because he only taught me what I found interesting (little did I know that I found his teaching engaging because Erdős was such a great teacher)!

I approached Erdős hovel. It was a ten minute walk. By rights, I should have only taken eight minutes to get there (Regnar would have ran there in half the time) but I stopped to buy a potato kebab. If somebody tells you that they like potato kebabs, it is either because they are lying, or else you have a very skilled cook who has run out of other suitable ingredients with which to make a kebab, yet is very skilled in the art of 'spicing things up'. I reached Erdős hovel, and heard singing from inside. Technically, Erdős also had a two-story hovel... Except that the second story was sort of one room on the roof of the hovel, and it was only for keeping – well I should not say _only_ – since it was for the keeping of valuable brass. Not the metal, but the... Metal resmithed into whistles. I do not know how to describe it, but if you knew Erdős, you would know what a valuable brass was, when I say the name, 'trumpet'. Erdős owns trumpets, and has even let me play on one in the past. But now I heard singing, and that is my favorite kind of music, because it is the oldestcitation required.

I heard music from below the trumpet room (which comprised the entirety of Erdős's (or Erdős'?) hovel's second story), and it was probably a girl singing, because... Boys don't sing soprano solos when there is a girl available. Now the singing was rather repetitive, yet pleasing to listen to, because I believe it was sung in three-four time. This made the effect of the accelerating tempo very noticeable, and I thought that the change in tempo matched-well with the increase pitch of the girl's repetitive notes (I remembered that her name was probably Jackie). Then, to my eternal shame, I realized that somebody had been playing trumpet all along, and that I had only just realized now as I waited outside of the hovel for the rehearsal to end (so that I could enter with unobtrusive timing). But I was instantly glad for waiting to enter, because then the melody rose to a climax, but hold-off on the final note. Instead, to my dismay, the singer simply stopped, and the trumpet kept holding the same note. I told myself that Jackie had forgot to breathe-in before singing, and had run out of breath. But no – instead, a third musician joined, with the same original melody (played in a lower octave). Erdős, because only he knew how to play the viola (of which there was one in Rascaline) so quickly. I listened as Erdős played his viola to the same tune that Jackie had sung yestersecond, and the trumpet-player just kept holding the same note. I could tell that the latter was running out of breath, since the trumpet's pitch started to waver out of tune, and its volume dropped-off right before the viola began its second repetition of Jackie's melody. But now Jackie had rejoined, and they continued the recapitulation together. This is all well and nice, but it was only an opening for the trumpeter to regain his breath, and then recapitulate (I mean repeat) Jackie's melody again – but this time with Erdős's viola and Jackie's voice silent. The trumpeter was so very loud, in all of his musical splendour, that I barely registered Erdős accompanying him with a wavering backdrop of the tonic note. Tonic notes are any high or low variant of your piece's beginning note, played also to signify the end of the piece. When Jackie had sung her solo, she had left out the tonic at the end. With the viola, Jackie had briefly touched the tonic at the end of her melody, and now the viola was holding the tonic close as the trumpeter (I wondered who) rose through the melody a last time, to that note which signified the end of the piece. Then all I heard was Jackie's voice, and the viola and trumpet cut-out, and I just heard the tonic, sung, perfectly in pitch. And that's all I heard, before entering Erdős's hovel to talk about Elves.

Entering the hovel, I saw who the trumpeter was. None other than Jeremy, Jackie's friend. I had not known he was learning the trumpet, for music was an uncommon skill in Rascaline. Jeremy was not a boyfriend of Jackie, but more of an uncle to her. He was good friends with her parents, and was much older than the teenager Jackie, having already served in the militia. For some reason, he had not liked it, and had left as soon as possible. Even though he and Regnar had that difference, Jeremy got along with Regnar, though they hadn't interacted for some time. In fact, I had not seen Jeremy for a long time either, but right now, I was interested in Elves.

"Erdős, what do you know about Elves?" I ask Erdős, as he gave me his full attention. "By the way, your rehearsal was brilliant," I finished, Jeremy giving me a smile, and Jackie seeming suddenly interested in a section of her music. Erdős pursed his lips as he usually did when surprised – actually, he raised his eyebrows when surprised. The smiling pursed-lips were reserved for musical mistakes that were soon corrected, yet I was quite curious about Elves, and if he was going to correct something, it was to be my lack of knowledge on Elves. "Why are they here?" I asked him.

"Thank you, Jackie and Jeremy are good students," admitted Erdős, accepting my compliment, "but what has you so curious about Elves today? Would you like to sit?" Erdős asked me, standing to pat the chair in front of him. I considered remaining standing, but then walked slowly to the chair and sat down, asking him,

"I – I mean, my brother – we saw this Elf in Rascaline and he thinks its a noble but that means it lives in Schloeffelonia but Regnar said it was a spy and I didn't believe him until Baba threw us – she – until Baba made us leave, and I didn't really see it. It's an Elf," I concluded, feeling unhelpful in my stammered description of the Elf, which gave a framework for the curiosity with which I addressed the subject.

"Elves are interesting folk, but one leaving Schloeffelonia's very interesting," Erdős said, abbreviating the kingdom's name and the word 'is' into one word. "I'd like to speak with Baba about this visitor, for it seems he must be rather more than a Spy. Elves are honourable creatures, although I am not sure whether they would consider spying an act of dishonour, as nobody ever spies in Schloeffelonia." Jackie shifted in her seat, and met the eyes of Jeremy on his wrinkled brow. My curiosity was contagious. "I reckon I ought to talk about this with Baba," Erdős contemplated out loud, "for it wouldn't do to be treating Elves like thieves and judging them wrondoers – especially if what you say, her being a noble – is true," he concluded.

"Actually, it's a male, and it probably is a noble if you're right about them not lying and such. But why would he be visiting Rascaline? Do you think he's a messenger?" I asked brightly, putting forth the next explanation that occurred to me (if the Elf was not indeed a spy).

"I don't know," Erdős answered. Jackie was practically on the edge of her seat now, and Jeremy was slouched in his, trying to act disinterested, though his left foot was bouncing up and down on the floor, and his head was craned all the way forward (which looked slightly uncomfortable from his slouched position). He was still rather young, so he slouched like a young adult. Yet unfortunately, a lot of the older adults in our city have also developed a bad slouch. It comes from the chairs we use, I suppose.

"... is a good idea, and he probably came to our city to speak politics," Erdős continued, as I picked up the thread of the sentence he had unravelled, without catching the first few words of his sentence when I had tuned-out to watch my peer musicians. "It's a good thing he's speaking with Baba now... Who found him, and what's his name, do you know?" Erdős asked me.

"Umm, John and his patrolling party went out last night and cap – and found the Elf, and brought him in through the gates where Regnar -" I began, but was interrupted by Erdős asking me, "Ah yes! Regnar, did he do well in his exam then? Did he pass the test and get his placement?"

"If you mean the militia recruitments then yes, Regnar has now joined, which is why he saw the Elf come in last night – it was Reg's first night watchmanning the north gate," I said, emphasizing the word, 'north', to indicate that it was the first time Regnar had been watchman at any gate, and not specifically at the north gate (which was, conveniently, the closest to our home).

"Nice." said Jeremy, "Then did John capture the noble, if the Elf wasn't at the gates alone? Like I mean he would have said he was a noble if he had come to the gate to himself," Jeremy said.

"Why weren't there Elf guards and Elf servants?" asked Jackie, "I don't really think that a Noble would come without servants," Jackie argued, and I began to disbelieve Regnar's tale once again. Jackie surely emphasized the word 'noble' (I heard it with a capital 'N'), and turning to Erdős went on to say, "or do they travel alone like hobgoblins?" Hobgoblins were a special type of goblin, notorious for looking ugly. I do not think Jackie meant to infer that the Elf was an ugly person, or had an ugly personality, but that like the hobgoblin, travelled alone instead of in packs (I forget what a pack of goblins was called, but they usually travel in groups of two to six – any more than that and I suppose there is too much squabbling)! Jackie, Jeremy, Erdős and I continued the conversation on Elves. By the time it was Jeremy's time to go (he left with Jackie, since they had some food to buy), Erdős and I decided to commence my music lessons.

"Let's start your music lesson, unless you'd rather come back later?" Erdős asked me, since our meeting was usually an hour and a half later in the afternoon.

"Sure," I said, leaning forward to indicate that we should commence as soon as I had obtained my instrument.

**~11~**

Regnar was feeling nervous. He had been left in Baba's house because John had gone out to eat breakfast, and Baba had gone out to get the Elites who lived nearest to her hovel, in which Regnar had been left alone. There was also the Elf in the hovel, and he felt that at any moment one of the Elites would burst in the front door and demand to see the Elf. And of course, by Baba's orders, he could not let them see the Elf. But he could not go against the orders of an Elite, for two very important reasons. First, one never disobeys an Elite, unless they want to have a very bad reputation – and having a very bad reputation can mean lack of employment, as well as lack of protection from thievery. Of course the latter was mere accident, as people who disobeyed Elites tended to be richer people, and thus more prone to thievery, yet there was also another reason. If John's father Richard Doar, who lived quite close to Baba, came and demanded to see the Elf, then refusing him would mean instant expulsion from the town militia. So Regnar comforted himself by assuming that Baba would arrive first, with the Elites as her guests. Baba may have been a widow, but the way she gave orders brooked no argument, because Baba had a very solid type of personality. She would say things like, "Please do the dishes," with the word 'do' being monotone... Intentionally left out of the sentence, to leave the listener with the option of imagining every possible emphasis that could have gone into the word 'do', which was an order. Of course, Baba washes her own dishes, so she would have said things more along the lines of, "Please stay and guard the house. No one is to see Fangline," with the words 'guard' and 'see' being pronounced slowly and in monotone. She had called the Elf Fangline, so Regnar supposed that she believed it was his actual name. Baba could be really polite when it came to dealing with Elves. She spoke to it as though it were a person, and had let it rest in her late husband's bed, which was elegant. In fact, the entire room was extravagant (for a hovel in Rascaline) yet she said that the room had been chosen for its spaciousness rather than to honour the resident Elf. Regnar turned in his chair to look at the Elf on the other side of the room,

"I guess you really are an Elf," he said, "Could even be the Schloeffel Prince of Schloeffelonia, and then we'll be in trouble once the Queen starts knocking on the door asking why you're stuck with us," Regnar continued, the Elf showing no signs of waking. Turning back to the door, Regnar crossed his legs and finished, "He must be famished. I'll give Baba one of the sandwiches in my pack when he wakes-up."

Regnar suddenly remembered that today was the day when town militia recruits obtained their headgear. As a new recruit, he would probably be given a wooden cap or a cloth bandana. Full militia had to go out into the world on patrols, and bring back trophies of their patrols, such as beaver pelts, hobgoblin hides, and dog pelts (wild dogs provided good nourishment to a travelling patrol). Long patrols (i.e. patrols which took more than two weeks) usually lasted up to a month, and the militia would bring back strange headgear such as wide-brimmed straw hats, satin turbans, or even metal helmets. John's headgear had an absurdly-long blue feather, about the length of his arm, which was pinned to the rim of his headgear. (If you are reading this, I can tell you that it is a cowboy-hat, even though there are no cowboys in Rascaline.) The feather was quite possibly from an animal John Doar had killed. But Regnar decided that he would have to wait, because nobody went against Baba's orders, because she had a solid personality, and there was no way around her. Just then, there came a knock on the front door. Regnar uncrossed his legs and leapt out of his chair, glancing back at the Elf to ensure that it was still sleeping. He quietly left the room and closed the door shut behind him. Hurrying down the stairs, Regnar had nearly reached the bottom when the knocking resounded again through the hovel, this time more loudly. Regnar reached the bottom of the stairs, swung around the lowermost part of the railing, and quickly opened the door. The door opened inwards, and Regnar had to catch it just before it hit the adjacent table (which looked rather like a footrest, although there was no chair). The door stopped just before banging against the footrest/table, as Regnar got distracted while slowing-down its angular velocity due to the face that was outside of the door.

"I demand to see this Elf right this instant," demanded Richard Doar. If Regnar had been a Princess, he may have fainted. But he was a militia, and Richard Doar's orders were the militia's orders. He opened the door as wide as it would go, and nodded. Just before saying "right this way, sir," he looked behind Richard Doar, and that was the best moment of his day, because standing behind Richard was Baba, and that meant presumably that Richard was allowed into the hovel.

"Step inside, Mr. Doar," requested Regnar, proffering the interior of Baba's hovel to the man. Richard stepped inside slowly, look right, and then left to ensure that nothing caught him unawares as he entered the hovel. Baba, who called her hovel a house, stepped inside quickly after Richard, and told him where he could leave his shoes (not indicating that there was any option of him walking around the hovel/house with his dirty shoes on. Regnar breathed deeply. He had several thoughts swirling around inside of his head, which is why he forgot to shut the door after Richard and Baba (who themselves weren't on the best of terms, but Baba's late husband had been a childhood friend of Richard's and so the relationship between Richard and Baba was conciliatory towards Baba, which served to Baba's cordiality towards Richard). The thoughts that Regnar thought of were that, firstly, that had been close. If Baba hadn't appeared behind Richard when he had let him in... He would be in so much trouble! Secondly, if he had said, "Right this way, sir," before making eye-contact with Baba... He may have also been in trouble – although perhaps not as deeply. And thirdly, and this was just a subconscious thought, he considered how while seeing Baba had been the best moment of his day in terms of pleasantness per unit time, it was actually much more pleasant on overall to be spending time with his brother, who had – yet again – made him sandwiches.

"Right this way, sir," requested Regnar of Richard, leading the way up the stairs. Baba scowled and shut the door behind them (she considered it rude to leave the door to a hovel/house wide open after opening it in the first place). But then, shortly after beginning his ascent of the stairs came Regnar's worst moment of the day, and this, assuredly, was indeed his worst moment of the day in all regards, for when Regnar opened the door to the Elf's room, there was his pack open, lying upon the floor. In addition to that, the window was open. And finally, the sandwiches, as well as the Elf, were both gone.

**~12~**

Business was slow. Even though it was strawberry season, and strawberries were at their prime, few people noticed the Strudel Stand. Strawberry Strudel was Tim's specialty, and if anyone wanted a quality strudel, then Tim's Strudel Stand was the place to go buy them. However, it appeared as though nobody wished for a Strawberry Strudel. Tim hypothesized that either the passerby were too used to the strawberries, which were his special this month, due to strawberries being on sale everywhere else. In addition to that, another significant factor in the lack of customers today could have been the fact that George's Croissant Factory (more or less, a 2x2 metre stand like Tim's) had superior wafting capabilities. The scent of fresh-baked croissants would _waft_ through the air. Tim noticed people looking for George's Croissant Factory as they entered the street downwind of it. They were attracted to the Croissant Factory like bees to a petunia (if bees went for that sort of flower). Tim sighed as yet another potential customer went to George's stand – he would have to do something about that wind. Suddenly, Tim made a postulate. Supposing that the number of customers attracted to a stand was directly proportional to the number of croissanst/strudels purchased, all Tim needed to do was waft the scent of his Strawberry Strudels towards new customers. Yet he certainly could not actually blow on his strudels – this was entirely out of the question, as it could place germs upon his strudels. Thus, he took the upwind corner of the tarp which covered his stand and detached it from the wall. Then, thinking critically, he re-attached it, and decided to take the upwind outer corner of the tarp, which was on the side of his stand which was not touching the wall behind him (this was a marketplace, and stands lined the streets (it was not The Marketplace, but it was a busy street nonetheless, with a high traffic of potential customers)). Tim then did something silly, and just that was enough to attract the eyes of the customers waiting in line at George's Croissant Factory: He attached the upwind outer corner of the tarp to the downwind outer pole, and took the original downwind outer corner of the tarp and placed it under the downwind leg of his strudel table (upon which his Strawberry Strudels lay). Then, he took his chair, and moved it against the wall, at the upwind side of his stand. He finally detached the downwind corner of the tarp touching the wall, and lifted the chair so that he could slide the tarp underneath its leg. However, the chair was not heavy enough to secure the tarp, so he looked around for a weightier object. Tim noted a line of three customers at his stand, watching him curiously. His face flushed from embarrasment, yet attempting to seem outwardly unabashed, he moved the chair further upwind, and moved the entire table of Strawberry Strudels such that the inner upwind leg lay where the chair had been before – underneath the upwind corner of the tarp which touched the wall. Standing-up with a feeling of self-accomplishment, Tim turned to the downwind side of his stand (noting that five customers were now in line to taste his strudels) and tugged it under the upwind leg of the table. Now the wind was trapped by the upwind edge of the tarp which touched the wall, and was guided along the tarp towards the outer downwind edge of the tarp which was secured between the outer downwind pole and the downwind leg of the table (which lay below the outer downwind pole). The tarp now looked much like a sail, and guided the wind along the tarp out to the outer downwind end of the table. Tim breathed deeply, placed his trays Strawberry Strudel at the downwind end of his table, and called out to the six customers in line,

"One for half and three for one! Could I take your order please?" This last question was directed at the human who stood in the front of the line. She was a young girl, possibly 13, although to Tim's eyes, she looked already 16. She ordered one strudel for half a unit of money (I don't know what Rascals call their currency in Rascaline, but every unit of money is this round copper coin with a person's face stamped into the centre of each side; half units of currency half a unicorn's face stamped onto their centres), and walked away. The next customer was a man who appeared to be in a hurry, he ordered three strudels for the person's face coin, and then walked away in the opposite direction. The third customer – we'll get to him – was interrupted by a running Elf. The Elf, who was travelling quickly, grabbed the downwind edge of Tim's table and ground to a halt to avoid crashing into Tim's customers. The Elf (Fangline, actually, as you may have guessed) was out of breath, and the dust arising from his rapid deceleration upon the dirt street caused many people downwind to cough or sneeze. Yet more importantly than this, the Elf was dangling a shiny yellow coin in front of Tim's face, and shouting,

"I'll buy two strudels if it pleases you!" at Tim, who was now openly abashed, and quite discomforted by the alien presence. Tim glanced at the yellow coin and realized that it may be valuable, yet as he reached out his hand to touch it, he heard a ticking noise coming from inside, and yanked his hand back. It was alive – or else some odd creature had made its dwelling inside of the coin. The Elf said to Tim, in a desolate voice filled with pleading,

"Please, is it enough for just one?" and quickly placed the coin between Tim and his Strawberry Strudels. The Elf leaned forward across the table, unintentionally causing Tim to panic, and the customers in line beside him to start grumbling about his presence. Suddenly, the young girl from before squealed out,

"Check it out! He's an Elf!" to which Fangline made a double-take (I don't know what this is, but it sounds like a neat action, by which I mean to describe that he spun around on his knee (I do not know how he pivoted around his knee, but he must have done it by holding himself up on Tim's table), craned his head to spot the girl, and continued spinning a full 360 degrees, to latch the edge of Tim's table with his free hand which had detached from the table's edge after his knee was sufficiently in the air). Fangline's two hands were both touching the table, and he was leaning obnoxiously close to Tim's face (who was just short enough so that Fangline's slouch over the Strawberry Strudels brought them nose-to-nose).

"Augh! Take them all!" yelled Tim, snatching at the bug-infested coin, and shoving it inside his money box, snapping the money box shut so that he did not have to hear the ticking of the bugs. But the Elf was already gone, taking only one strudel with him. The girl said something to him as he rapidly departed, and he turned on his heels, and grabbed a second strudel, before sprinting away, in the direction upwind of the stand

Now for the customer who had been waiting in line the whole time. He watched as the Elf disappeared into the distance, and then left without purchasing anything. It was not until later that anyone began taking interest in the golden Dwarven Watch (which was not, in fact, a bug-infested yellow coin).

**~13~**

"I... Don't think I'll be in the town militia any more," stated Regnar as he entered the front door to the hovel. Juan was there, and took the statement with some shock, responding with, "Whaaaat?"

"I lost the Elf," explained Regnar briefly, not remembering that Juan had not witnessed the event of this day, as he (Regnar) was mired in his own guilt (and more importantly – his loss of self-esteem). Juan paused, and looked at the floor.

"How did he die?" Juan inquired.

"He didn't die," Regnar responded quickly, "I just lost him." he corrected Juan. "I was supposed to keep the Elf from escaping, because Baba told me so, and then Mr. Doar came to the hovel and it was a disaster!"

"What was a disaster?" prompted Juan.

"That Elf, F-F-Fangline was its name – it escaped out the window when I went downstairs to open the door and now I'm pwned!" cried Regnar, burying his hands in his face – or – burying his face in his hands, after sitting down at the kitchen table. "Pwned!" he expounded.

"You are not 'pwned'," Juan argued fiercely, "because 'pwned', is not even a word," he delivered as proof, stressing the fact that 'pwned' was not a word. "Wait," said Juan suddenly, "so you saw the Elf?" he guessed.

"Yes I saw the Elf!" Regnar shouted, "I was charged with guarding it and I've failed in my duty to Richard," he finished.

"Ok, ok," said Juan quietly, lowering the tempo of the conversation. "What were you guarding it from? I mean – ah – I mean I'm feeling sceptical about this situation." Regnar lowered one hand away from his eyelids. "What I mean is, if the Elf escaped, then obviously he didn't want to be guarded and if he travelled all the way from Schloeffelonia by hisself then he probably feels safer outdoors than at Baba's." explicated Juan, trying to amend for his feelings of guilt over being sceptical of Richard Doar's definition of 'guarding' (i.e. keeping prisoner). Regnar merely nodded.

"Is your collar ripped?" inquired Juan.

"Uh, yeah," responded Regnar, who remembered Richard holding him up (not literally up off the ground, but holding him so that he was off-balance) by his collar, once Regnar had explained where the Elf had gone. Baba and Richard had started shouting after that, but as soon as they were done shouting at each other, Richard had started shouting at Regnar once again (actually, it was more of a slow, angry speech, with odd emphasis on each syllable – which was the equivalent of shouting, except in a not so loud voice). Hoping to avoid that subject, Regnar rapidly changed the conversation, opening with a "Ha" which he pronounced "I", in the sentence, "I guess I better go find that Elf!" exclaiming the word 'Elf' with extra false-enthusiasm. Juan saw through the façade, and sighed internally. Regnar actually believed that his future career literally depended on the capture of a living Elven being. And that was silly, because Elves were Elves. Regnar wasn't exactly up-to-pace on Juan's ideas, however, so Juan said instead (with false-enthusiasm),

"I guess we better go catch 'im!" And that is where Juan's true adventure began.

**~14~**

Celeste Du (the late Regnar senior's husband, and also the mother of Regnar and Juan) plodded about the kitchen table for a fourth time. Her sons were going on an adventure and it made absolutely no sense except for the fact that she believed them, because they never lied to her, and would not have bothered to concoct such a ridiculous tale just for her. She checked the calendar on the wall. It was not April Fool's. She wondered if one of their friends had talked them into making a grand joke at her expense and thought to herself that it must have been somebody's birthday, and they had asked for a silly present such as going out on an adventure, or playing a practical joke on somebody. She gave an exasperated flick of her right wrist to tap of her index finger, middle finger, and ring finger (which still had a ring) against her right hip, and checked the pantry. They would be needing more than salami sandwiches if they were going to be up all night tracking-down an Elf, and she hoped dearly that it had not left the city. She checked the calendar again, rehearsing her personal schedule and checking whether the brothers had anything coming up the next day or two (actually, she mentally checked three days ahead, in case of the worst-case scenario, of them chasing an Elf right out of the city gates, and then had a flash of worry as she pondered how bloodthirsty an ambush of Elven bandits of Elves might be, and that the Elf may have been plotting to lead her two children into the maws of a bloodthirsty Elven camp – except, like everyone half-sensible knew from birth, Elves weren't like that at all). Drawing herself up, she continued with preparing the boys for a day long journey to the dog pound, and wherever the dogs might lead. But... This story is not about her. Suffice it to say that she was an honest working mother who had raised her children with all of her love, and that they probably should have given her more attention because she was a rather selfless person when it came to raising a family, and she definitely deserved their attention. But again... This story is not about Celeste.

**~15~**

As Juan and Regnar neared the dog pound at 6:38, Juan whispered to Regnar, "Do you think they'll... Let us in..?"

"Probably not," stated Regnar, sounding confident, but as they had agreed it was worth a try! Juan strode to the pound door. The pound was actually... Not a nice place for dogs, because here dogs were trained to hunt. It was like a place for training hunting hounds, and you didn't see any dogs here that weren't good at hunting, whether for scent, for speed, or for endurance. The door opened, and after a thankfully short conversation with the doorkeeper, they were allowed inside. And this is where an interesting coincidence occurred (no I didn't make this up – this actually happened)! As Juan and Regnar entered the pound and Juan began to ask about finding some trackers for chasing-down the Elf (he supposed that once talked to, the Elf would decide to return, or give some sort of token to Regnar which would magically dismiss his dishonour from allowing the Elf to escape), Regnar suddenly saw somebody walking slowly down a row of dog kennels who stopped when Regnar shouted, "John!" Thinking that Regnar had spoken to him, Juan turned around from the person he had been speaking to and to his amazement, John Doar came striding out from the row of kennels. "It's great to see you here," greeted Regnar with a smile on his face, "we wanted to find help tracking down the Elf that escaped, because it was my fault, but do you know who we can talk to to see -" Regnar spoke rapidly, but was interrupted, even in his haste.

"Yes." said John bluntly. Turning to Juan he grinned and showed them the dogs. "I was wondering if I should go with this basset here or that foxhound," he asked, as though speaking to himself. The foxhound looked cute, until it snarled at everyone.

"This one looks cool" said Juan, pointing to a shepherd.

"That's not a scenthound," stated John.

"What about that spaniel?" asked Regnar.

"No, it's not either. I'll just take this basset." said John. Peering forward in the insufficient light, Juan read its nametag on the kennel, 'Ruffian'. If the Elf had known its name, he would have laughed, because he was being chased by 'Rascals' (from Rascaline) and a Ruffian... Except that he wouldn't laugh, because right now he was probably trying to hide somewhere and eat his Strawberry Strudels.

And then they travelled out of the dog pound, as the two men who worked there wished them good luck. The quest began on a good note, because John had thought to bring one of the bedsheets which Fangline had slept in.

**~16~**

They met at the west gate (one of the gates which had beautiful stonework), and the person whom they met with was Bernet. Bernet had been in the militia for five years (give or take six months) and still had his wooden cap from the barracks. At 6:35 Regnar had been worrying about going to the barracks and picking-up his headgear, but it was just as well that he and Juan had decided not to, for if they had then they wouldn't have met-up with John, and I am not even sure if Regnar would have gotten his headgear, what with the sun about to set, and Regnar being in trouble with Richard Du. It was at approximately seven o'clock that they met Bernet, and Bernet was talking to the Elf. Then the dog started barking, and the gate had not yet closed, and the Elf saw the dog, and heard Juan ask excitedly, "Is that him?" and the Elf Fangline shot off from the group, flying through the gate (not literally) and vanishing into the darkness (again, not literally). Then John started barking (which was funny), and Regnar drew his sword (this was a really stupid idea), and Bernet saw Regnar draw his sword so he drew his own sword, and Bernet's partner on the walls started shouting, and Juan saw all of this and smacked his own forehead because the Elf was never going to turn around and come back to sit down and talk if three armed guards were chasing after it with swords drawn (John had drawn his sword also).

"Hold-on, don't let him see the swords!" requested Juan loudly. This, however, was also a stupid, because the Elf (now out of sight) actually heard him, and began running faster – it was a sprinting Elf now, and sprinting Elves are uncatchable by humans. Regnar looked at the dog, and wondered if the dog could outrun the Elf as he sheathed his sword and tucked the scabbard strap inside of the scabbard (it was a broken strap). The Elf was completely gone, and everyone wanted to blame somebody else, but the person who got the most blame was Bernet, because he had been talking with the Elf previously.

"I was just asking it fer a bite of strudel," explained Bernet, in response to his companion on the wall and John's accusations. John stared at Bernet, and now sheathing his sword (he was the last to sheathe his sword), stomped off out of the gate, gesturing for Juan and Regnar to follow him (even though they didn't want to, because John was in a very bad mood). The guard on the wall watched the trio and sighed.

"Bernet, you let him go." he complained, to which Bernet made no response.

**~17~**

They had passed through the gate in a discomfitted state, and were now boredly walking after their quarry. Juan was unsatisfied with the whole state of affairs, as he felt guilty about chasing a person through the grassy prairies west of Rascaline with a dog to track their scent. Wondering if the dog was really following the Elf, he peered ahead over the expanse of grassland. The sun had set, and only a tinge of bluish purplish light lay over the western horizon. John was breathing heavily through his nose to the right of Juan, which made him sound like he was snoring. Since John had a slightly taller stature than Juan, and because the two had never become fast friends (and to Juan's relief, neither were they at odd ends with each other) Juan thought that the entire situation was quite unrealistic; he looked ahead again to see if the dog had really found their quarry (Fangline was the Elf's name thought Juan to himself). Then a few seconds later, he posulated out loud, "If the dog does find the Elf, and it is dark out, then we won't be able to see him."

"We'll find him if we're persistent," answered John. This correspondence had taken place at least 25 minutes ago, and Juan's feet were getting uncomfortable as they waded through the somewhat uneven terrain. If there had been sunlight then he would have been able to avoid stepping on the more outcroppping clumps of grass, which he supposed were one "grass" plant growing out of the ground. He wondered whether one plant could have two clumps of grass outcroppings, and if so, how their root systems were interconnected, or possibly formed a dense mess somewhere between (and underneath) the two clumps of grass. As his right foot trundled squarely onto yet another grass-clump, Juan hunched his shoulders and staring straight ahead wondered silently whether his companions had been thinking about the same thing. However, Regnar had been thinking of how the gate guard, Bernet's companion's headgear (something round with a handle attached to it) had compared to the standard barracks starter kit of wooden caps and cloth bandanas. John had been thinking about politics with the Elven house Schloeffel, and the basset hound had been thinking about two things: Firstly, that were was a squirrel which had wandered not far south from here, and quite recently. Secondly (though perhaps not as important, as it is extremely rare to find squirrels in a grassland as they live in trees (either it was a lost squirrel, a magical squirrel, a migrating squirrel (whose migrating habits have yet to be documented), or a confused basset hound) who was – Secondly – thinking of food. Not of the delicious human Elitist fare of cooked meat but of the standard dried doggy food.

It was then that something happened. However, it occurred in Rascaline, which is not where our heroes are at, so I will not bore you with the details (which are more exciting and suspenseful than boring, and thus I have all the more reason to not tell you)! Don't worry, it wasn't anything drastic and had actually a lot to do with strudel.

Fangline blinked and waited for himself to fall asleep. Yet he was not too intent on the actual not-being-awake part of sleeping, so instead of taking deep breaths or counting the stars (which are easy to see from the Plains of Woe) or counting grass blades, or other such stuff, he decided to spend his time more wisely by recapitulating the day's events before sleeping. He surmised immediately that the day had been a failure, possibly. It had been a failure of a day because it had ended badly (his bed consisting of dirt, grass, and possibly ants, while his pillow lay unsnugly as some soft dirt and elf-hair (his hair was very long and soft) between two clumps of grass (which might have been the same plant)). His Butler Geeves would have known. In addition to the day's end being a failure (not to mention that armed swordsmen were likely pursuing him) he noted that this day's beginning had been full of fail. He hated humans for their bruteness and uneducated speech, but worst of all, he hated regaining consciousness being carried on somebody's shoulder in the middle of a dirty street with early-rising shopkeepers and pedestrians all staring (he had quickly thrown-up and gone back to being unconscious until awakening at Baba's house). Baba's house had been strange although Regnar's sandwhiches had been ok mused Fangline. As well, the strawberry strudels shopkeeper had sold excellent pastries (rivalling those of the Schloeffelonian Kingdom, although he supposed that humans could only pick ripe strawberries in the summertime, and not throughout winter (though he had always preferred summer strawberries over the more magical variety). Lettuce on the other hand was nicest during winter because it was less crunchy, which brought out the other textures in his royal salads. What then? He had ran from the guards who had wanted to take his two strudels from him, and awakened here, west of the city where he had started yesterday night. His hunger was gone, yet he now felt just as thirsty as he had before drinking from a public well in Rascaline (and receiving Baba's care, had gone entirely unnoticed since he had been unconscious). Upsettedly clenching some grass in his left palm Fangline decided to get up and put some distance between himself and the humans to the east, yet he vitoed the motion (get it? The _motion_ of getting-up) with a second-thought which lay along the lines of, "It can't get any worse," which was a quite reasonable thought for a royal Prince of House Schloeffel of the Schloeffelonian Kingdom to be thinking, after such a day.

**~18~**

The trio came on the elf who was sleeping, their element of surprise ruined by the dog's snuffling about Fangline's arm. Then the dog started licking Fangline's hand, where some strawberry strudel had been. Luckily, it's master didn't see in the darkness, or John would have been displeased with the dog (hunting dogs usually don't go on a hunt to lick their victims). Fangline awoke with a start, and stared at the dog. Then he curled his hand into a fist, propped himself back on his elbows, and kicked his cloak off of his legs (the cloak was not being worn, so it flowed into a heap beside him, opposite of the dog (who did not like flying cloaks)). The dog stared-down the unmoving cloak, as Fangline looked hard at the trio and shouted,

"Why on Earth are you chasing me?"

The basset averted its attention to Fangline, who was starting-down Juan, who looked askance at Regnar, who turned to John, who paused, looked at Juan, and announced,

"Cuz you were running."

"We mean," intoned Juan, feeling silly (as Fangline's wrist crept his hand along the ground, towards his sheathed sword...) "you shouldn't of run off,"

"Cuz you're an Elf, and I was supposed to make sure you didn't," began John, "didn't run off, and you just did that the first thing you woke up." Finished John in a half-comprehensible mutter, looking down at the dog, who was now growling at Fangline's boot (there is a reason for this, though for the sake of continuity I will explain later).

John stepped in, "So come back to the city, explain yourself to my father, and if you can prove you aren't a spy, we'll let you live. Happy now?" we asked. The argument sounded reasonable to Regnar, who had faced similar charges when he had been accused of working in a joint organization of children who had been smuggling citrus fruits off of foreign caravans when their drivers had been occupied. John had been delighted to have got them all red-handed (about nine years ago, but Regnar still remembered)...

"No!" responded Fangline fiercely, "You're crazy! Take your puppy and leave me alone," he burst out, kicking at the dog. This, however, while it may have been a politically wise move for Fangline (as John had seen him beginning to unsheath the sword, and was onto his movements like a bijective map), was a very painful move. The dog, noticing the boots attack, quickly leapt up in the air. Then, in an amazing display of acrobatics (for a dog), curled his paws in, spun forward (in mid-air!) and launched itself upon the boot, its weight crushing Fangline's delicate ankle against the ground as the whole of the dog came down, down on its target.

"Auuuugh!" Yelled Fangline.

"Off!" Shouted John.

Regnar and Juan cringed in sympathy. Juan had seen someone break their leg before, and hoped that Fangline's bones were still intact. Just before the dog started gnawing off the tough material of Fangline's boot (it may have been leather), the dog sat to attention, and backed-off its target. Now the dog expected his hunter (John) to finished-off his prey. However, unbeknownst to the dog, the boot was not John's prey. I should explain myself more clearly. You see – the basset hound disliked boots, because when it was a puppy, it had been stepped-on by a boot. To the puppy, the boot had been quite enormous, and so it had had a phobia of boots ever after. This phobia had not been helped by the fact that the reaction to biting/snarling at boots was often a kick, received by the dog, from the boot. The world would have been better-off without boots, which the dog assured itself were non-sentient menaces, deserving of destruction. It watched impatiently as John delivered his finishing move onto the boot. It was a verbal attack:

"Stop kicking my dog, Elf. If you want to leave, then leave, but do not coming whining to me when father starts interrogating your friends." Fangline's eyes widened, and he drew the sword out of its sheathe, pointing it at John. Unphased by the weapon, John continued, "Any future spies we capture, whether they are your friends or not, should not be hiding near Rascaline. We don't want a repetition of the Dwarven Wars, and if you're wise, you won't start a skirmish here, which could lead to war," said John, slowly unsheathing his blade, and pointing it at the ground before Fangline.

The two new rivals stared at each other, each willing the other to blink first. Fangline almost averted his gaze as Regnar unshed his own sword. Juan did not have a sword, but not wanting to be left-out, he tried to strike a heroic pose beside John and Regnar. Yet with all these distractions of imminent battle, John was the first to lose his concentration. Elves are very good at hand-to-hand combat. For an Elf it is insult to lose to a human in hand-to-hand combat. Ever since the Dwarven Wars, Elves had been trained in hand-to-hand combat to a point of excellence, as it was rather embarrassing to live for 500 years and then get mortally wounded by an amateur swordsman. And John, amateur swordsman (but quite good with the axe he fingered in his belt) knew it. But his concentration broke, as the dog's focus broke.

"Off!" Yelled John, before the dog could attempt a secondary conquest upon Fangline's wounded feet. Fangline sprang away from the dog and faced his attackers.

"Please, let's not fight here," asked Juan. "Just leave, I didn't mean for this to escalate." Seeing the wisdom in Juan's words, Fangline hesitated, and lowered his sword away from the trio's faces. He remembered his gun, which has caused so much wanton destruction at home. Turning behind him to check that he was not being surrounded, he looked at the dog, and announced,

"Whatever."

**~19~**

They began walking, trying to gather about each self an individual air of togetherness. That is to say that they were trying to overcome the Elf-to-Human differences as they walked. Fangline brought-up the rear, though his long-legged strides quickly brought him to John's side.

"I thought you were with the enemy, sorry." said John.

"Sorry for what?" asked Fangline.

"Knocking you out, capturing you, dragging you to Baba's, and for, I suppose, making you feel like a prisoner," John explained.

"Or you wouldn't have tried to escape!" Regnar added, walking to Fangline's right (Juan and John were to his left, with the city laying a ways before them).

"About that... Sorry for being arrogant about the prince thing. You know I'm not a prince anymore." Fangline said, his head lowered.

"So you made that stuff up?" asked Regnar.

"_Anymore_, Reg. He said _anymore_." Juan corrected, continuing with the question: "So what happened? If that's not prying..." he finished in a mumble.

"Nothing much, just..." Fangline scuffed a tuft of grass with his right foot, "Exiled." The sentence was met with silence. After an awkward moment, Fangline added, "For gambling-away my hierloom to the throne."

Regnar choked and lost his footing as he regained mental – and physical – balance. Juan rolled his eyes and checked John's reaction. The dog was oblivious, and John guffawed, slapping Fangline on the back, and then thinking better of it (who knows if Elves are trained to kill anyone who slaps them on the back)..?

And so, nobody but Regnar still believed that Fangline had been a Prince of Schloeffelonia, because... It's just stupid to inherit a kingdom and then exile yourself from it. As well as the fact that – Elves didn't gamble (Regnar must have forgotten).

That previous statement needs correcting. Fangline also believed that he had been the firstborn Prince of Schloeffelonia. It was sort of tragic that his family had not known about his gambling mistakes, and even if he had lost his hierloom, they could have easily repurchased it at the cost of a fraction of the treasury. Hmm – 'treasuries' – since there were dozens of royal vaults in Schloeffelonia which each contained copious amounts of gold/jewelry/gems/figurines/artifacts/trinkets/assorted paraphernalia.

"Well I'm glad that your intent is not to invade the city." John said, thinking of the vast forces contained within the Schloeffelonian army – if they had bothered to recruit an army. Even the lower class Elves of Schloeffelonia could take on two or three humans in swordplay, and survive. Although John's father (who was indirectly in charge of the militia) prided himself in the knowledge that militia were trained to fight swordsmen (an Elf may be able to dodge an arrow... But not if it is shot really fast and really accurately). So John voiced his worst fears and Fangline said:

"Ha! As if my father would step foot outside of home. Nobody wants to attack anyone. You live in Emb – I mean Rascaline?" and before anyone could take a breath he continued, "Where are we headed? What was the place I was in before? Can you always buy strudels? How can I get my watch fixed if I had my watch? Where are we now? Was I trespassing on -" at which point John cut-in.

"No. No you weren't. It's fine to trespass outside of the city so long as you aren't carrying a sword or leading an army." John glanced at Fangline's sword, "Well I suppose swords are fine, as long as you're not swinging it in the air attacking someone." Hoping to gain some semblance of control, John added, "Why on earth were you lying down outside, with just a sword and no food and supplies and company? We thought you were a Spy!" To which Fangline coughed, and was about to speak (refuting the comment on the topic of Spies), yet it was Regnar who spoke more quickly, saying:

"Actually, we do live in Rascaline where we're headed right now and we found you outside the city but took you to Baba's where you ran off and man – I wish. I wish strudels were sold daily. The watch is called a Militia here and yeah..." trailed off Regnar.

"Baba is our unofficial female authority. She's not so bad really, and was going to give you food before you found Reg's *knapsack*. Why did your friends leave you here without supplies?" asked Juan, slowing his pace to peer at Fangline behind John's back.

"Uhhhhm." began Fangline after a period of two or three seconds.

"Don't worry man." John said, facing sideways (the dog was interested at how his feet moved whilst walking sideways) towards Fangline. "They might have survived Pixie Pass." This inferred that John believed Fangline's companions to have been waylaid by pixies. A common occurrence for Rascaline humans attempting to reach Schloeffelonia. In fact, the Pass was the most inconvenient place for pixies to live, and due to the inconvenience of pixies frequently attacking (with the intention of physically disabling and/or fatally wounding travellers (the latter only if the travellers killed the pixies first, which could sometimes happen even by stepping on the wrong tuft of grass or clump of bush)) the Pass was soon renamed from "Morton Pass" to "Pixie Pass". No Rascals (except perhaps old people like Erdős) even remembered who Morton the Restless was (and he was a lot more than just restless)!

It was in this fashion that they continued on towards the gates of Rascaline. In a friendly, sociable manner. The odd passerby (or dog) would not have even noticed that Fangline was an Elf, due to the way that the representatives of both races were treating each other with respect. In fact – the crow who was watching Juan earlier at the graveyard was sleeping nearby as they passed on (crows tend to get hit with brooms and other wooden implements if they sleep too near to human settlements (there's a sad story about a crow who slept near a – nevermind)) did not even hear the brandishing of metal weaponry, the twang of firing bows, or the cries of the wounded as man and elf passed side by side towards the city.

**~20~**

It was nearly dawn. Fangline could feel the sky brightening as the party trudged towards the gates. Fangline could already scry the stone foundations that held and surrounded the gate, and something on top of them which was either a guardsman or a Construct. Regnar looked very disappointed at not having accomplished anything, and Juan looked quite pleased for not having arrived at the point of inter-racial fighting and sword-stabbing. It was not often that the two brothers' moods were at counterpoint with each other, yet perhaps the opposite moods were restrained by John's mood. John's father was a very anti-Elf type person, and they may have sensed that if they both shared the same moods then John would have pounced upon them, for having negotiated with the Elf instead of capturing it. In fact, they may very well have been subconsciously tying John's reaction to the situation of peace and tranquility by staying at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, leaving him in between. However, it is even more likely that John was feeling great, and Regnar was feeling proud for finding Fangline, and Juan was thinking about food. Or maybe the other way around, Fangline posed, turning to look and consider John again... However, Fangline's doubts as to the character of John were soon dashed by how he conducted himself in the next several hundred seconds.

The dog, who had been being very quite up until now suddenly gave a low woof. It sounded like a bark, but Fangline could not have mistaken it for its true nature, which was a woof. Then the dog started yipping (or yapping?) at everything in general (including its tail), and with a look of determination in its beady eyes, sprang back in the direction they had come. Regnar stared at the dog, thinking, "We already found your Elf scent. He's right here." John ordered the dog to quit baying, and started walking after it. Juan grinned, and stretched his calves.

Then the dog died. It was quite sudden. Fangline looked on as the dog fell-down, about half of an Elfball field away from the group. John gave a cry of confusion, and Juan suddenly stood very erect as he noted, "That's an arrow-shaft in your dog, John."

For 1.8 seconds, everything was total confusion, as the turmoil in everyone's heads threatened to erupt in a massive Ctrl-Alt-Delete of panic. But then, John pivoted on his foot, drew his sword, and said, "goblins."

But the thought had already crossed Fangline's mind as he rushed past John, grabbing his sword-scabbard out of his belt as he entered a full-sprint and was unexpectedly intercepted by John's speedy motion of grabbing the scabbard out of Fangline's hands. Nobody was faster than an Elf – but Fangline was suddenly off-balance from his scabbard being torn from his right hand (he was still gripping it with his left – I said Elves' reactions are fast). And then he almost fell, but sort of leant backwards as he spun clockwise towards John, placing his full weight onto his right foot as it snuck behind his left foot. Instinctively judging himself to have sufficient angular momentum to make himself face John, he lifted his left pivot foot and hopped backwards on his right foot, landing with left foot behind him, his right knee bent towards John, and his left elbow nearly touching his left knee. But the graceful action looks quite silly as Fangline's right hand crept towards where he kept his scabbard, because his scabbard was actually being held by John. Fangline began to change his fighting stance, when John tossed back the scabbard (he had much better balance, but as a result, could not do a split-second recovery because he had never been about to fall, due to being braced low with his knees bent). Fangline caught the scabbard, and heard the words:

"Don't bother, it's a trap and you won't survive longer than he did." Then he spoke to Juan and Regnar, "Or orcs."

**~21~**

Crossing the ground towards Regnar and Juan he absent-mindedly saluted the ground with his sword (as if shaking blood off the blade), and turned to encompass Fangline in his gaze. Then, as everyone held their breath, ready to draw their own swords and run after the dog who had selflessly sacrificed himself to alert them of their danger, John continued with a roll of his shoulder (to loosen the muscle there that had tensed, from seeing his dog die), "Let's make a dash for Rascaline, and if one of us makes it, summon my father." Then he began sprinting towards the gates (not as fast as Fangline, and not as gracefully, but just as cool, because he was wearing a long cape which fluttered in the wind of his instant departure, as if saying, "Good morning, the flag of Rascaline still stands,"). And then everyone followed suite and ran (but without capes).

The next twenty-five seconds passed by quite rapidly, and if the casual observer were watching then first-off, he or she would not be so casual anymore because there were several running figures sprinting towards the gate of Rascaline – and secondly – they would have noted that the goblins had not sprung their ambush quite professionally (the runners were lucky – there weren't any orcs; they had all been hunted by or had escaped from the careful militia patrols) and that instead of running into the group of a dozen armed goblins (seven were armed with crude ranged bows, while the other four had deadly spears in their claw-like hands) the runners had instead run to warn the city of the goblins. The goblins, being the sort who hated humans (not the kind of hate you get when eating something that doesn't taste good, but the kind of hate you get when you feel like you cannot control your emotions). But the goblins weren't the sort for taking long, deep breaths to calm themselves either. They were the killing sort of goblin, and if you were a goblin, then you practiced murdering so that you stayed on top of things (e.g. piles of gold, innocent travellers, and other goblins who disagreed with you). Juan chanced to look backwards over his shoulder without tripping, and saw three of the figures with spears chasing after them. Regnar John and Fangline were more sensible, and kept running. Fortunately, they all had long legs, and Fangline's were the lengthiest of all.

"Slow down, or they'll think we're chasing you!" John shouted to Fangline, as they neared the gates. Fangline stopped running and pondered this – it made no sense to slow down, because everyone actually was chasing after him, in their attempt to reach the gates and/or fight him. He needed to get to the gates before the goblins got that chance. However, it is a good thing that he waited for each of his newly-found friends to catch-up, because this is what the gatesman said when he saw them:

"Stop there! An Elf is right behind you!" instead of the less friendly greeting to only Fangline, which would have been, "Stop or I'll shoot!"

"Enough shouting Dwarvick," cried John, "we've an uprising on our hands!"

BA-DUM

**~22~**

John reached the gates, hustling everyone inside. He looked panicked now, as he wagged his head back and forth, searching in the long grasses for traces of their pursuers. He wished they had burned the grass near the city wall this year, but it was risky to set things on fire.

"Get inside, hurry, hurry!" he shouted at Regnar, who was the last to reach the gate. Regnar jumped into the city just as a guard and John snapped the wooden gate doors shut behind him. The double doors would not hold shut by themselves, so the guard clunked a large plank into the bars on each door, holding them steadfast against anything that tried to open them. The Construct, missing an essential plank, had collapsed in on itself. John looked for the other guard, but Bernet was already almost out of sight, sprinting for the nearest training arena, so that everyone there could arm themselves and also warn the barracks of the attackers. Bernet feared that the goblins may have Rascaline surrounded. He hoped there was only a small attacking party, but he has seen nearly a dozen dark shapes in the grass pursuing the people who had just reached the gates. It was very scary for everyone – even the author – whose electricity just went out (better turn on laptop power-saving so I can finish this chapter)!

"Take this," John ordered Juan, offering him a thin dagger the length of his forearm. Juan shuddered, and gingerly took the weapon out of John's hands.

"Get me a bow Eidolas!" John ordered the remaining guard, who was already searching for the attackers from the top of the wall. Eidolas knew that the goblins may start burning the gate and palisade that protected them, so he rapidly tossed down a quiver full of arrows that the militia kept under the Construct, pried a longbow from under the part that had collapsed when he removed the wooden plank, and jumped down to the others. He actually had second thoughts of jumping off the gate itself (don't want to have an injury right before battle), so ran down the stairs instead. John strung the bow, while Juan ran his fingers along his dagger, Fangline took off his cape, and Regnar took a deep breath and made a stabbing motion with his sword, to warm up his muscles.

"On the gate Eidolas. Regnar, Elf, go west – I mean south," John snapped, not meaning to sound bossy, but used to people acting fast. As Fangline and Regnar dashed-off in the direction that his finger had pointed. Juan and John ran to the north, while Bernet watched the gate.

"Don't get hit by a rogue arrow. You need to yell if you see fire," cried John to Eidolas as he ran northwards along the palisade. The mention of fire sparked the worries in Eidolas mind again; they both remembered the last time that Rascaline had been set on fire.

Fangline's keen ears picked-up Bernet's shouting, seconds before a much louder uproar of human voices broke-out in the western district (east of the palisade). Fangline glanced at Regnar, and fully-unsheathed his sword, which he had kept in its scabbard.

And then they summoned John's father, and got an epic number of men ready to defend the city of Rascaline, where the people were not so lucky as to be protected by stone gates, and only had a fence/palisade. He thought about the dog, with an arrow-shaft sticking in its side, as it fell, the black feathers on the shaft reminding him of crows swooping down on a kill. The cries of goblins as they realized that their dog had probably taken that shaft to save their own lives. He silently thanked the dog and tried to peer beyond the palisade wall, which was too high. Then Regnar began yelling at the top of his voice, warning everyone to arm themselves.

"Grab your weapons, the goblins are at the gate," yelled John at the same time, startling the sleeping citizens who lived near the edge of the palisade. Many angry mutters and complaints broke-out, but John and Juan ran by without a second glance. Suddenly Juan heard a faint whistling, and thought to himself,

"A flying clarinet, no..." An arrow! He ducked. John heard the whistling too late, and jumped as an arrow struck the ground just behind them and to the right (the wall was on their left as they ran north). John swore and tucked himself between two palisade logs, urging Juan beside him. Juan looked around at the houses of people who hustled about, waking each other up. He heard the clang of a sword on metal in one house, the thock of a spear in another (it was actually a cauldron spoon, but just as dangerous as a spear once a knife was embedded in the tip of the spoon). Juan saw a lot of activity, as men and women began to stream out of the houses, alerting their neighbours of the goblin attack. But it was worrisome that most of the houses seemed empty, or their occupants were sleeping-in, ignoring the attack. Juan sighed as John turned-around and leapt up to grab the top of the palisade walls with both hands. Peering over he yelped, and dropped down, picking up his bow. Speaking to Juan he spoke,

"Get me a chair, please." And off rushed Juan, into the nearest hovel door.

**~23~**

Eidolas squatted inside of the Construct's half which was still standing. He winced and wished that he had not given away the bow to John, who was a much better shot at archery than he was. Thinking of John's fast-acting leadership, he stood-up inside of the construct, turned around, did a quick count of the figures swarming from far off, past the dog, and towards the gates, looked at... A goblin ladder, and turned to shout at the top of his longs towards the people of Rascaline:

"Thirty goblin and a ladder! We need bowmen! Grab your weapons!" assuming that everyone who lived in Rascaline slept with a bow at their feet and a sword under their pillows. This, fortunately for the goblin raiding party, was not the case. Eidolas decided to remain standing at the wall – oh cool, my power came back on! – and poured some oil from the gate-lantern into his supper bowl, in order to throw it at the goblins if they came near. He looked to the north, grabbed Bernet's metal cap (which was safer to wear than his own green-and-red bandana), took another plank out of the construct (which did not collapse in on itself more, because he actually chose a good piece to take), which allowed him to grab a long wooden pole out of the ceiling (which had partially collapsed from the plank in the gate bars), and then set the pole on fire. He considered setting other things on fire, yet was content to wait with his bowl of gate-lantern oil, and his sword, and Bernet's cap, and the lantern, which he could smash if he needed a second projectile. Then Bernet slowly uncrouched to peer between a slit in the gate wall, searching the darkness for a spark, which might indicate fire.

Regnar wondered if the other sections of Rascaline were already under attack by the goblins. He heard shouting in the distance, from the direction of the barracks, and was glad that John had not noticed his lack-of-headgear. Looking ahead to Fangline, who ran faster than he, Regnar said,

"Do you get this a lot?"

"Get what a lot?" inquired Fangline, slowing down his pace for Regnar.

"Oh – I just thought you acted all natural as if the goblins were expected,"

"I had nothing to do with this." murmured Fangline as he rotated his wrist, feeling the weight of his weapon.

"I mean, do you get this in Schloeffelonia? Goblins?"

"Oh that. No. This is the first time." answered Fangline, who was apparently inexperienced at defending against goblin attacks. Then an arrow whizzed past them, making them both jump. Fangline heard a sound, and Regnar peered to their right, looking up as flames arched up above the palisade wall. Then the flames died-down, and the night behind the walls was lit-up by the light of the palisade catching fire.

"Everyone get a bucket – goblins are burning the palisade!" Regnar yelled.

Fangline sat down with his sword on his lap, stared at the ground with his back to the second (inner) palisade, and murmured,

"What are we supposed to do human?"

"Make sure they don't reach everyone else, and don't get hit by an arrow. Bernet has warned the militia." Regnar replied, feeling sympathy for Fangline's fears and confusion. He thought of the dog, who had warned them of the attackers, and then left Fangline against the wall, to wake-up the citizens further south along the double palisade walls of the western district.

**~24~**

Inigo knelt, looking at the dog. His teeth shattering, not from the cold, but from his orders to kill the dog. He looked at his knife, and tossed it down at his right side. Then he picked up the rusted axe that lay strapped across his shoulder. The axe no longer poked his spine, as he stood up with the axe. And then he did the last thing that a goblin warrior would ever do in the face of a helpless prey. He dropped to his knees and whimpered. Petting the dog, he tore the sash-like axe-straps from his back, tied them around the dog's ribs, and then hacked-off his pant-leg. His clothing now consisted of an old vest, a tattered T-shirt, an a human pair of pants with both legs cut off below the thighs. He took his last pant-leg thing, and wrapped it around the arrow-head, slipping it under the axe-straps that he had tied around the dog. Then he took the end that was on the side of the straps across from the arrow, and had second thoughts about what he was doing. His left hand becoming soaked in the blood of the mutt, he closed his fist and unstrapped the axe-straps. Then he lifted the strap to the tip of the arrow, and made a "C". In other words, he decided that instead of helping the dog by Making a U-shape around the arrow, and pressing the pant-cloth around the wound, he would keep the arrow in the unconscious dog and use the shaft to completely enclose the wound, by... Well first-off, the shaft is stuck in the dog, and the pant-leg is like a cylinder made out of fabric. So if he put the arrow shaft through the cylinder by dropping the fabric around the wound, then poked the axe-strap through the pant-leg, and made it so that the pant-leg was a cylinder around both the arrow-shaft and axe-strap, then he could twist the pant-leg into a figure-eight, with one half of the figure-eight having the shaft and strap inside of it, and the other side of the figure-eight being a second cylinder (it is hard to type with a pant-leg on your arm). Then he made the "C" shape by drooping the second cylinder of the figure-eight over the arrow-shaft. Now there were two pant-leg cylinders around the arrow-shaft that were small in radius – so when Inigo tied down the double pant-leg cylinders down against the bleeding arrow-wound, the axe-strap held the fabric tight against the flow of blood, and the cylinders were small enough that there was no gap between the pant leg and the shaft (because the figure-eight made the cylinders small enough to cover the flow of blood on both sides of the arrow wound). Inigo felt joy over having stopped the flow of blood, and then ran to the gate with his axe and knife, before his brothers noticed. But by this time, the barracks militia had arrived on horses, because he had spent five minutes crying. He looked at the horse coming towards him, and ran into the darkness.

**25~**

"Stay near the group, don't chase by yourself!" rang out the brazen voice of John's father, Richard Doar, who leaned forward on his maple steed, a cutlass in his right hand, a warhorn slung about his left wrist, and a conspicuously large metal helm perched atop his forehead, visor down. "Ignore the fire and find them all!" he bellowed.

"What have we here?" asked a mounted figure, quite rhetorically. Inigo imagined that the face between the beard and toque was smirking, so he pondered between his options. He could spend all of his energy running away from a mounted swordsman. He could freeze in panic, he could beg for mercy, or he could attack the swordsman. He also briefly considered calling for help, but that would make him look silly. Casting his eyes back and forth rapidly, he searched the darkness for fellow goblins who weren't dying, and then froze in panic. His best option was to go down trying to survive, he thought, so he shouted in commonspeech: "Don't kill me, please!"

The bearded man raised his bushy eyebrows and tightened the grip on his longsword. Then Inigo saw a flash of metal, and then... Nothing.

"Stupid goblin, we never take prisoners." muttered the bearded man. "But then again," he thought, "we never hear common ever. I hope I didn't give him a concussion." Then the bearded man went on with his horse, in search of blood. The war between humans and goblins had ended decades ago, yet goblins are never the kind to admit that they've lost, and humans are never the kind to try and promote peace treaties (unless the treaties are rather one-sided, which the goblins never agreed on). And so the war raged on, with small groups of goblins doing large amounts of harm to human property. The bearded man, whose name was Tom, decided that taking just one prisoner wouldn't hurt. It had been forever since he'd heard a goblin speak in commonspeech.

**~26~**

Inigo felt a poke,

"Speak-up or you'll die," came a voice from above. Keeping his eyes tightly shut, Inigo jumped away from the direction of the voice and the poke, and tried running-away. Yet to his dismay, his feet were bound. As he tripped, he was caught by another human, and lowered indifferently into a sitting position.

"Tell me when the next raid is planned," ordered the voice.

"I don't know!" yelled Inigo helplessly. The voice paused.

"Repeat that in common," ordered the voice, holding something against Inigo's shoulder. Inigo opened his eyes to see that it was the butt of a spear. Either they did not trust him not to try and escape by killing himself on a spear point, or they didn't want him to be scared by the sharp end.

"I said I do not know and I did not find out about this raid until yesterday?" Inigo asked, keeping trying to keep his voice from becoming high pitched with anxiety. He was going to be killed!

"Then where did you get your weapons?" the voice asked. It belonged to a tall man who was keeping his face hidden behind a raised-shield. The shield was emblazoned with a gate which looked a lot like the gates of the city, except this gate brighter and looked as though the artist had run out of paint when deciding to draw more details (such as individual rocks which composed the gate, or the palisades to either side). "Well?" queried the man. Inigo looked-up and answered,

"Kii."

"You have a key to the barracks?" the man practically shouted.

"What?" asked Inigo, frightened, "Kii-nan. Kii-nan!" he answered, trying to correct the man's misinterpretation. Kii-nan was a goblin who helped Gerudo keep the armoury polished. Gerudo was a hobgoblin who kept everyone out of the armoury when it wasn't in use, and kept the weapons from getting rusted. Kii-nan helped to do this during Gerudo's "day off" which was a day when Gerudo didn't have to work. Gerudo has four to seven "days off" per week, and Kii-nan had zero.

"Is that your Chieftain?" the man inquired eagerly.

"My chieftain is Fear, and Kii-nan just helps keep the weapons clean." Some of the humans behind Inigo laughed when they heard the name Fear, so Inigo explained the name's origin:

"Fear's brother was Ur'uk. He calls himself Fear because it's the one thing that he can't take from the humans." The man who had caught him before gasped aloud. Ur'uk had been the Chieftain who had started the war between goblins and humans over a territorial issue. After his death on the battlefield, Fear had gone berserk, ending many lives prematurely. A man behind Inigo told him to be silent, but the man with the spear and the shield continued,

"And where did he get the weapons from?"

"Ahh... I think they're yours." Inigo drew a dagger from his shoe to hand back to the man, since much of the weaponry had been stolen from Rascaline. Then he imagined what the humans reactions would be to him drawing a dagger... And thought better of it.

"You didn't check his boots?" the man with the shield – let's call him Richard Doar – yelled at Inigo. Then a person behind Inigo answered. Inigio turned and that person was the same horseman who had hit him (HARD) with a sword.

"I uhhm... They stink!" the man explained, trying to make an excuse. Richard Doar took one giant step forward and kicked Inigo's boot off, as Inigo yanked back his hand. The dagger fell to the grass and the boot flew off Inigo's foot to land four feet to the left.

"Are you going to kill me now?" asked Inigo to Richard Doar.

"No. You have more to tell us, and I can tell you haven't lied to us yet," said Richard, nodding as he said 'haven't lied yet'.

"But I don't even know when the next raid is supposed to be?" asked Inigo, confused.

"No, neither did your friends. Send him to the barracks, and don't let him walk around like Elven royalty. In fact, I want Baba out of the barracks; if you're going to take orders from her, take useful orders and start helping the people near the palisade," Richard ordered, indicating the cries of citizens who had just had some or most of their homes and furniture burnt to the ground. "And when your devious little mind finds that you won't be escaping, think of a good answer as to who rescued my son's dog." Then Richard walked off, making sure to keep Inigo's hands in the corner of his eye, until he was out of dagger-throwing range.

**~27~**

"You put him where?" wailed John at the guard.

"It wasn't my idea... And that thing is probably even worse than anyone else that's in there." answered the guardsman. John took a deep breath, and did not bother to respond. He had wanted to speak with Inigo and thank him... But his father had ordered the goblin tied and imprisoned in Rascaline's high-security prison for criminals. It was also manned by the roughest, crudest militia – those whom Richard did not want to deal with the citizens, because they were offensively rude to people. Five minutes later, John stumbled into the prison's reception area and interrupted the conversation that his father had been having with a prison militia.

"Hey!" he said. John's father turned around.

"What did – oh it's you. What is it John?" asked Richard, frowning slightly when it dawned upon him that John was not a messenger from the gates (Richard wanted to find out if there were other attacks going on, or other fires to be put-out). John gazed at his father and realized that now in front of the other militia would not be a good time to whine about the humane treatment of goblins. Especially with his father – who regarded poorer citizens as potential-criminals, dwarves as schemers, elves as greedy merchants, and goblins as murderers (all of this was somewhat true in specific scenarios, but not necessarily the way one should think of a group of people just because one of them who has the same color skin or length of ear did something bad).

"I... Wish to... Speak with our new resident goblin." John inquired hesitantly, asking to meet with Inigo.

"Inigo?" asked his father, revealing the goblin's name to John. "Oh I suppose that you wanted to check on the dog." said his father, tossing John a group of keys.

"Dog?" muttered John quietly, fumbling for the keys as Richard Doar finished his conversation with the prison militia(man) and then left.

John climbed up the stairs to the prison. The people of Rascaline had learned quickly that keeping your prisoners underground could be deleterious to their health. Thus, prisons were built above-ground, yet with lots of inescapable devices such as walls, bars, and locks. Though somehow, the latter had been ineffective at keeping the one and only dwarf to ever enter the prison (caught under the charge of burglary at a blacksmith's shop; nothing had been stolen yet the forge had been lighted and used by the dwarf – and was later used by the very same dwarf to remake each of the prison's locks).

John arrived at the hallway which held the prisoners. They were very quiet today. John wondered if there had been conversation as the ones with a few of the battle had reported on the happenings to those who could not see from their windows. He looked for the goblin's cell; it has a bowl of untouched water, and a bowl of (also untouched) low-quality food. The goblin was lying curled-up on the floor.

"Hey you," whispered John gently. Inigo became instantly alert, and hid his hands behind his back. John took a moment to observe the goblin in the light of day, and then asked, "why did you save my dog?"

"..." said Inigo

"Father said you speak Common." said John. If Inigo had known whom John's father was, then he would have been more scared of John. While thinking of a response, Inigo watched John turned and enter the dog's unlocked cell (Why was the dog inside a cell?) wondered Inigo – perhaps all humans slept in rooms like these? "He looks pretty good for an animal that's just been shot." John complimented.

"Sorry; I didn't want him to die after I'd shot him," whispered Inigo at the floor.

John paused for a moment, and then walked-off leaving Inigo in his locked cell, and the dog in its unlocked cell.

**~28~**

Fangline met John on the way in – literally!

"My name's John, by the way," said John to the elf.

"Fangline," answered Fangline, pointing to himself.

"Huh, that's weird – that is – is glad to meet you, Fang of Schloeffelonia," answered John, his mood turning from distraught to enthusiastic. "Ah... The interesting stuff is upstairs," said John, pointing directly at the point between Inigo and the dog's cells (upward). It must be said that Inigo was not looking forward to being interrogated a fourth time (the second had been when Richard had asked more questions, which Inigo did not know the answers to).

"Hey – what's with that?" asked Fangline. Inigo stared in shock at Fangline. Goblins and elves had been enemies for as long as goblin historians could remember (note: goblin historians pass-on stories by word of mouth, and not books, so their histories are rather shorter than that of elves, who each have hundreds of years to read and write history books before their lifespans end).

"What's with attacking a human city? Haven't you even HEARD of the Treaty of Versailles?" demanded the elf.

"Versailles? You mean the blood pact?" asked Inigo. "We weren't attacking Rascaline – you attacked us first!"

"Me? You were attacked by Schloeffelonians?" asked Fangline quizzically.

"No, I mean you sent the hounds to kill us and then charged our group with horsemen."

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah... Shooting your hound may constitute as a violation of the pact," muttered Inigo.

"Big words for a goblin. So we are talking about that dog outside of the city gates? Looked more like a siege than a picnic to me," observed Fangline aggressively.

"Look! If I didn't shoot the dog, I'd be killed because Grimweld who's my Captain said he'd killmeifIdidn'tshootthedogbecausewe'." answered Inigo, switching to goblin-speech in the second half of his sentence.

"I no speak goblin," answered Fangline in the same language. So Inigo switched to Common speech with embarrassment at using the wrong language

"I broke the treaty because I had been threatened with death by Grimweld if I didn't shoot that goblin because he thinks I am a rebel."

"An airbell," clarified Fangline uncertainly.

"A rebel. We were tracking them when the trail ended at the city gates. We sent -" Inigo interrupted himself and closed his mouth.

"You sent..?" Fangline posed the question.

"Uhm. We sent – we were sent to find out were the rebels had gone, and, you see, Grimweld – who's our leader – thought that I was a rebel, since I'd been involved." Fangline crossed his arms – a human equivalent of raising an eyebrow (and not to be confused with a human crossing his/her arms, which signifies controlled frustration). "Long story," began Inigo, "maybe I can tell you about my involvement with the goblin rebellion once I find out whether I'm going to live." he spoke, emphasizing his wish to live by continuing, "So don't kill yet please."

"Uhm. Do you know how many laws you've just broken?" accused Fangline. "And don't tell me you joined a governmental coup d'etat just because the 'Rebels' threatened you with death." he finished, not waiting for an answer (note: coup d'etat means a military hit to the governmental power, sort of like blowing-up a Death Star). Then Fangline walked off, leaving Inigo alone with an unconscious – yet no longer bleeding – dog. Did I ever say that the dog's name is Penelope? Yeah... It's not a great name for a male dog, which is probably why I never mentioned it.

**~29~**

"Hey you!" spoke commanding female voice. It was Baba. Inigo, who was already paying attention to the incoming footsteps nodded his head in a sitting-bow towards Baba, and waited for her to say something: "Why in the name of Rascal did you set our houses on fire?" she demanded. Inigo pondered the question before speaking, yet his thoughts (houses? I set houses on fire? No I didn't – it was the people I was with who were waving-around weaponry...) were interrupted by Baba, "Speak-up goblin! I don't care if you're no goblin-prince or a - " Baba laughed, "a PACIFIST goblin," (Baba was laughing pretty hard at this) "I want to know what's with the torches and stuff! There's a little of hassle that I have to do because of you!" (she directed her finger at Inigo, who leaned back away from the suddeness of her pointed arm and finger).

"Hello Ma'am," said Inigo to Baba, "I was looking for some friends in the city." Being a goblin, Inigo could hear quite well (some goblins could hear even better than elves, which was almost as good as a dog... Unless the dog is sleeping on the floor – and in this case, dreaming about chasing goblins), which is why he heard the voice downstairs say, "I told you!"

Meanwhile, Juan and Fangline were eavesdropping on Inigo. Juan was indirectly eavesdropping, by occasionally prying Fangline for information, whilst Fangline held his ear directly to... Eaves. Like the thing that you use for keeping rain off of the roof, and flooding on portion of the grass with water – except instead of carrying rain, this eavestrough carried the sound upstairs!

Watching his words, Inigo said, "Some rebels escaped from the city – our city – and so we went to catch them, but they escaped, and the trail led through Rascaline, but not out, so we - "

"But that doesn't explain..!" Baba cut-in. She thought twice about cutting-in and let the goblin continue.

- so we "decided to enter the city to locate our friends, since - " Inigo heard voices downstairs, yet continued, "- nobody detected the tracks of humans capturing us... Which meant that somehow.. Well I'll put it this way – someone assumed that since a goblin was being held in Rascaline, that you'd probably broken the treaty, and since most of us don't even care in the first place it was an excuse to start burning stuff... And I can't say that I wasn't involved."

"Hmmph!" answered Baba. She turned to stalk-off, but then stopped her tread and paused to ask more questions. They were all boring questions about trading and economical statistics. Inigo had to due some quick math, and was allowed to use words like, "about one-hundred" and "probably twenty" and "umm" or "ahhh – seventeenish?"

The voices downstairs were talking about goblin rebels though, and no matter how much Inigo focussed on the voices downstairs, the voice of Baba always pierced-in repetitively (like a needle sewing thread). Yet unlike sewing, Inigo was able to think of very little while she quizzed him on economics. Why couldn't Georgel (pronounced 'Jorj-al') be here, he wondered, and then regretted wondering since that would mean that Georgel would be in no better a situation than he... Possibly much worse since Georgel didn't speak very functional Common. Inigo imagined Georgel trying to communicate with the humans on paper, using writing. It would be hard trying to write to tell them that he needed paper in order to understand Common – without any paper to begin with! Then Inigo's thoughts turned to the battle, and then quickly back to Baba.

**~30~**

Richard walked into the prison, just after Fangline noticed his footsteps and discontinued his eavesdropping. Richard appeared to be in a good mood, possibly due to the numerous compliments of gratefulness that the citizens had shown towards his leadership in chasing away the attackers, setting the houses 'off' fire, and most importantly (in their minds) helping to organize free reconstruction of the damaged walls, roofs, and furniture! One home had had its ceiling completely burnt to ashes, while another had had not one but two of its walls burnt down to waist-height! And the half-meter of wall that stood standing was liable to topple-over or crumble to the floor if poked with your finger. All in all, Richard was pleased that there had been no riots. In fact, disasters tended to bring people together in the act of co-operation, rather than inflating the mistrust and the anger that people in Rascaline kept hidden in the back of their minds... Elves were too peaceful to have to hide their mistrusts and disagreements, whereas to people in Rascaline, you were born and raised a Rascal.

Richard's pleasant mood was spoiled when he heard Baba's voice rising and falling in pitch up the stairs. When he clambered up the stairs and saw her fussing over the dog (which was still in its own jail-cell) he had half a mind to – or at least a quarter mind to shut her in with the dog in its cell, and keep her there until she agreed not to go galumphing with his prisoners.

**Endword**

So I got to be thinking of this little miniature childrens' books about dragons that I had read a while back, and I thought – they were short enough to read while my mother did shopping at the grocery store! And then I thought... Only adults read giant books! So here's my book and I'm continuing the story in my next one..! I think that this is a good place to stop, because the next book is going to start-off as being about Inigo, and how he (hopefully) can befriend some of his potential enemies in Rascaline, and not get held as a prisoner! But I'm thinking... That Erdős may have a small part to play in this :)

So... I'm writing this book and the Microsoft Word file is called 'The Story of ' so maybe I should name my next book... Story of Inigo? I like that sound.


End file.
